


My Word is My Sword

by PalomaD



Category: The Mummy Series
Genre: F/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalomaD/pseuds/PalomaD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a sequel to Little Bird.  Please read that story first.  There’s more to being a Medjai than galloping around in the desert, waving your scimitar and yelling “Yalla Imshi”.  Rated M for sexual situations and (mostly implied) violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Word is My Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters of Ardeth Bay, Rick O’Connell, Evelyn Carnahan O’Connell, Beni Gabor, and Imhotep are the property of Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios. The situations and all other characters were created and owned by the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

“Hamunaptra.  It is always Hamunaptra.”  Ardeth Bay looked up at his wife and friends, a note from the British embassy in his hands.  They were ostensibly in Cairo to obtain supplies and to check in with the Medjai who lived in the city.  There had been rumors of strange activities on the part of some of the Europeans who were staying in Cairo, and the Medjai Chieftain wanted to see for himself what was going on. 

“What does it say, sayyid?” asked Musaid, his second-in-command.

“The British ambassador has received a request from an…” Ardeth glanced down at the paper. “An Ellen Brown.  She wishes to mount an expedition to Hamunaptra to look for, of all things, pottery.” 

“And between our government and the English, we have been chosen to be their guides,” finished Musaid.

“That is correct, my friend.  It gives us the chance to ensure nothing is disturbed that should not be disturbed.”

On the one hand, the Medjai disliked being thought of as tour guides into the desert.  On the other hand, it afforded them the opportunity to keep an eye on the archeologists, tourists, and treasure hunters who wanted to visit the ancient ruins hidden there.

Ardeth continued reading the note.  “It says Miss Brown has asked for me specifically.  I am unsure how she even knows my name.”  Although the Medjai were known in Cairo, they tended to keep a low profile, and the name of their Chieftain would not be commonly known.

Just then, the group was approached by Abdul, the owner of the café where they were eating.  Abdul was one of the unmarked Medjai who lived in Cairo and supplied his tribe with information they could not readily obtain by other means.

“There is a woman here to see you, my lord,” said Abdul.  Before he could say anything else, a blonde woman approached the table.

“I am Ellen Brown,” she stated with a hint of an accent.  She looked at Ardeth and Musaid and made a decision.  “You must be the Mr. Bay the Embassy told me all about,” she said silkily, ignoring the other man and the two women.

Ardeth stood.  There was something about this woman that bothered him, but he was not certain what it was.  He gave a perfunctory bow.  “This is my friend Musaid,” he said, purposely not telling her either his or Musaid’s status in the tribe.  “And these are….”

The blonde woman cut him off.  “Oh yes, these must be your women.”  She barely glanced at Jamila and Natira, who were both veiled.  Although Medjai women did not normally wear veils while in the company of other Medjai, they did wear them when in Cairo or other places where there would be outsiders.  Natira, although a Medjai warrior, was not wearing her warrior robes, but was dressed similarly to Jamila.  Medjai warriors walking through the streets of Cairo already attracted enough attention.  Since there were so few female warriors, Natira had decided that wearing her robes would attract even more unwanted scrutiny. 

Jamila ignored the snub.  As the Chieftain’s wife, she was accustomed to being treated with the utmost respect by other Medjai.  She was referred to as sayyidah, Lady Jamila, or my lady.  However, she had already picked up on her husband’s reticence to introduce his companions by name and remained silent. 

Jamila did not appreciate the strange woman’s attitude or the way she blatantly raked her eyes up and down Ardeth’s body.  She breathed a sigh of relief when the blonde woman, after making arrangements to leave for Hamunaptra the next morning, finally left the café.

”I did not like that woman,” announced Jamila.  “She was disrespectful.  And I did not like the way she looked at you, my husband.”

“Do you want to borrow my scimitar?” quipped Natira, trying to diffuse her friend’s annoyance.

Ardeth put his hand over his wife’s.  “These Europeans have different customs,” he said soothingly.  “We need to know what their intentions are so we will go along with them for now.  Do not worry, my wife, I will not let this woman take my honor.”

This last remark earned Ardeth a small smile from Jamila.  “I ask your forgiveness, my lord.”

"There is no offense where none is taken."

Abdul had been quietly standing in the background but he now came over to the table.

“I agree with the sayyidah,” said Abdul.  “There is something about that woman.  I will have my sons see what they can find out.   But as for now, I have some packages for you to take back home. “  He placed three wrapped bundles on the table.  “There is a package of sweets here for your three children, Musaid.  And one for your brother, sayyid.  And of course one for the young chieftain.”  Jamila and Ardeth’s son Kazeem was not yet three years old and already looked forward to the packages his “Am Abdul” sent from Cairo. 

The two couples left the café and headed back towards the garrison where they were staying while in Cairo, the men walking ahead of the women as was the custom in Egypt.  Ardeth knew that if anyone approached them from behind, he could depend on Natira to defend his wife.

As they walked through the cobbled streets, Jamila nudged Natira with her elbow and pointed to a small alley.  “That’s where, you know……” she whispered to her friend.  The two women giggled.

Up ahead, Ardeth overheard.  Medjai do not blush, but if they did, he would have.  Ardeth recalled the day almost three years ago when Jamila told him she was pregnant.  He had pulled her into that very alley to couple with her, unwilling and unable to wait until they were in the privacy of his apartments.  Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Musaid,” he began.  “I would like you to accompany me tomorrow.  Our wives will return to the village with some of the other men.”   Ardeth insisted that Jamila was always accompanied by at least two warriors. 

“Aiwa, my lord.”  Musaid was not looking forward to a visit to Hamunaptra.   It was too unsettling for his taste, with its strange sounds and sudden gusts of wind.  However, he would gladly accompany his friend and chieftain anywhere.  And if he got the chance to use his scimitar for something more than training, so much the better.

Back at the compound, Ardeth and Musaid gave one last swipe to their blades before retiring for the night.  Medjai warriors carried at least two scimitars and an assortment of knives.  Even Jamila carried a small “ladies knife” similar to a Japanese kaiken.  Both men also cleaned their rifles and made sure their bandoleers were filled with ammunition.

“Are we going off to battle, sayyid?” Musaid asked, inserting one last cartridge in his rifle.

“We are going off to look for pottery.”  Ardeth’s tone of voice made it clear he did not for a moment believe that statement.

Ardeth’s apartment had originally been furnished for one person, with a narrow bed and a chest of drawers.  When he had married Jamila, he had taken a second bed from the barracks and lashed the two together, effectively making a bed wide enough for two people. 

“I have a bad feeling about this woman, my husband,” said Jamila as she and Ardeth lay beneath the blanket covering the bed.

“You are simply jealous because of the way she looked at me,” teased Ardeth.

“You enjoy having women look at you.”  Jamila understood that her husband was considered extremely handsome, even among the Medjai.  She was more possessive than jealous, as she knew that her husband never returned the wistful glances.

“She was too bony, and too pale.”

“Bony?! You looked at her bones?!” Jamila pretended to be insulted, but then grew serious.  “There is something else about her, Ardeth.   I just want you to be extra careful.”

“Let us not speak about such things, _kalila_ , but instead take advantage of the fact that we have tonight together before Musaid and I leave for Hamunaptra.”  Ardeth drew Jamila into his arms. 

“I intend take all your seed, my lord, so you will have none left for any other woman.”

“Is that a promise?” 

Jamila’s small hands were already at work untying the drawstring on Ardeth’s pants.  “Aiwa, my lord,” she murmured, as she reached for her husband’s growing erection.

A similar scene was occurring in the barracks.  Even though Natira was a Medjai warrior, she was also a woman.  Whenever she stayed there, a screen would be put up separating her from the men, affording her some privacy.  She and Musaid had dragged another bed behind the screen and pushed the two beds together. 

“We should try to be quiet, my wife,” admonished Musaid.  Natira was usually anything but quiet during their lovemaking.

“I doubt anyone will pay any attention to us,” replied Natira, motioning to the door of her chieftain’s apartment. 

“My lord is quite vocal tonight,” Musaid agreed with a chuckle.  “I wonder what Jamila is doing to make him moan so?”

“I think I know.  Would you like me to show you?”

“Aiwa, but no teeth.  Or at least not much.  I need to be all in one piece in the morning.” 

Natira gave a small smirk before her head disappeared below her husband’s waist.

 ***

“This man insists he must see you, my lady.”

Jamila had come out of her tent when she heard the commotion, Kazeem hiding behind her.  A man was being held between two of the Medjai sentries.  He tried to twist free, to no avail.  In his arms he held a large bundle, which he dropped at Jamila’s feet.  When he spoke, Jamila realized he was speaking Tahaggart, a language of which she knew only a few words.  The one word she did understand was “dead”.  Jamila reached down and untied the bundle, already dreading what she would find.  In it were Ardeth’s outer robe and his scimitars.  Her eyes snapped up to the man’s face.  “Where did you get this?” she demanded.

The man replied in Tahaggart, now twisting his hands in supplication as he looked wildly around at the crowd of Medjai who had gathered.

“Does anyone understand what this man is saying?” Jamila’s voice was almost hysterical.

One of the warriors stepped forward.  “I have spent some time among his people,” he said.  “Unfortunately,” he added.   The Medjai had little respect for their Tuareg neighbors.  The warrior approached the man and translated Jamila’s question.  Upon receiving an answer, he turned to Jamila, almost unable to speak.

“My lady,” he began. “This son of a camel says he was paid by an white woman to bring this package here, and to tell you…….and to tell you that our lord the Chieftain was killed in an accident at Hamunaptra.”

Jamila swayed.  She felt as if the ground was tilting.  Two of the women of the village ran to catch her before she collapsed.  After a few moments, she regained her equilibrium and gently shook off their hands.  “ _I am the sayyidah_ ,” she thought.  “ _I must show strength.”_

“Ask the man if he saw, if he saw the chieftain’s body.”

The man shook his head wildly.

“Ah, you do speak Arabic, don’t you?” Jamila asked.

The man seemed drawn between replying and denying he knew what he was being asked.  Another torrent of Tahaggart flowed from his lips.

“He says,” supplied his translator. “That he understands some Arabic and some English but not enough to speak with you, sayyidah.”

“Then he is of no use to me.”  Jamila bent and picked up the robe and scimitars, concentrating on keeping her balance. 

As she turned to go back into her tent, one of the warriors asked, “What shall we do with this man, my lady?”

At that moment, Jamila realized that with Ardeth’s death, she had become a de facto leader of the Medjai.  Her son Kazeem was now the titular chieftain, but since he so young, Jamila and her father-in-law Humam would share the rule of the tribes. 

“Do what you wish,” Jamila replied dismissively.  “Let him go or kill him.  It makes no difference to me.”  Jamila knew it was likely that, in their grief, the Medjai warriors would execute the man.

Jamila made it to her pillow bed where she collapsed in tears, grasping Ardeth’s robe to herself.  Kazeem climbed up beside her.  “Ume no cry,” he said, trying to wipe her face with his hand. 

Jamila looked at her son. He was a miniature Ardeth except for the color of his eyes, which were grey like his mother’s.  She enfolded him in her arms.  “No, my little sayyid, we will only cry in private.”

Sometime later Jamila stirred and realized she had fallen asleep.  She was alone in her bed and assumed one of Kazeem’s grandmothers had come and taken him.  A Medjai village was one of the safest places for a child to be, as everyone looked out for every child whether he or she was their own or someone else’s. 

Jamila noticed she was clutching something hard and metallic in her hand.  She had fallen asleep with her face buried in Ardeth’s robe.  It carried his scent, a mixture of sandalwood and leather and something uniquely Ardeth, and Jamila had been oddly comforted by it.  Jamila looked at the object in her hand and recognized it as the amulet Ardeth always wore.  She knew that Ardeth would never have removed it voluntarily and she sobbed as she brought it up to her lips and then put it around her own neck. As soon as she did so, a dream she recently had came back to her.  In it, Kazeem Bay, the distant ancestor of her own son Kazeem, had spoken to her.  “You hold our ka in your hand,” he had said.  The Medjai were not by nature a superstitious people but they did believe that dreams could be portents. 

Jamila had dreamt of Kazeem before.  She had become interested in learning more about her husband’s ancestors and had been allowed to read the historical scrolls kept in the Elders’ tent.  The newer pages were in Arabic, but as Jamila read back in time the writing turned to other more ancient languages and eventually to Hieratic.  These ancient accounts had been translated into modern Arabic over time, most recently by either Ardeth’s uncle Terrence or by Evy O’Connell, but Jamila also enjoyed looking at the original scrolls even though she could not decipher much more than the names inscribed in the cartouches.  On one particular day, she had been examining one of the earlier of these scrolls, the one devoted to Kazeem.  He was the Medjai chieftain in the time of Seti I and had been instrumental in the capture of and subsequent mummification of He-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named.  Jamila had been using a pointer similar to one used while reading the Quran so as not to damage the delicate papyrus.  When she had touched the pointer to the cartouche enclosing Kazeem’s name, the hieroglyphic had begun to glow blue.   

Jamila had thought she was imagining it.  It was hot in the Elders’ tent and she had been bent over the scrolls for a while.  Perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her.  She had carefully rolled up the scroll she was studying, put the pointer back in its case, and had left the tent without telling anyone what she thought she had seen.

That night Kazeem had appeared in her dreams.

Jamila had immediately recognized him.  The resemblance to Ardeth was striking.  They shared the same strong features, the same flashing mahogany eyes, and the same serious demeanor.  Jamila had idly wondered if Kazeem’s shoulder length black hair was a wig, as she knew many Egyptians at that time shaved their heads and wore wigs made out of a various assortment of products, from human hair for the nobles to straw or mule hair for the slaves.

Kazeem was standing at the head of a long line of warriors, and Jamila realized they were the Medjai chieftains from the time of Kazeem to the present day.  She was intrigued by the fact that although the styles of clothing changed over the ages, the men all resembled both Kazeem and her own husband.  Towards the end of the line, she saw Humam as a young man.  His now grey beard was still black and he radiated the same great strength that was still apparent.  Of course Ardeth looked like Ardeth.  The last person in line was Jamila herself.  Then she heard Kazeem’s voice.  “You carry our ka,” the voice said.

Jamila woke up.

The meaning of the dream had been apparent to her, and she had said to Ardeth that morning at breakfast, “We are going to name our son Kazeem.”

Ardeth had looked at his wife’s expanding waistline.  “How do you know it will be a boy?”

Jamila had explained her dream to him.  Ardeth was a man of the sword, a man of the sand.  But the Medjai practice of Islam was infused with Sufism and Ardeth had no trouble accepting Jamila’s dream as an omen of future events.

Of course, the baby was a boy and his parents named him Kazeem.  When Jamila looked at her son she could see in his face the line of Medjai reaching back thousands of years.

Now it seemed Kazeem was speaking to her again, and Jamila was unsure what he was trying to tell her.  She did not think she was pregnant again, and this dream was different from the one she had when she was carrying her son.  While she was thinking about this puzzle, Jamila unconsciously put the pendant on over her head.  As soon as she did this, Jamila sensed a warmth surrounding her.  “Ardeth,” she whispered to herself.  It felt as if she was in her husband’s embrace.  Jamila quickly arose from her bed and hurried to her in-laws’ tent.

Kazeem and Yusef were playing on the floor.  They were less than two years apart and behaved more like brothers than uncle and nephew.  Kazeem would someday succeed his father as Chieftain, and Jamila could easily envision the older boy as his best friend and second-in-command.

_“But not today,”_ Jamila firmly told herself.

Amira and Humam were surprised to see their daughter-in-law.  They assumed she would want some time to herself to absorb the news of Ardeth’s death.  Amira had quietly taken Kazeem to her own tent earlier to allow Jamila to rest undisturbed. 

“He’s not dead,” Jamila stated firmly.

Amira went over to Jamila and put her arms around the younger woman.  “I know this is a terrible time for all of us,” she said.

“He. Is. Not. Dead.”  Jamila insisted.  “Feel this.”  She lifted up the amulet around her neck. 

Amira touched the metal and jerked her hand away as if burned.  The amulet was hot to the touch, much hotter than one would expect.  And it had left a mark, almost a burn, on Jamila’s skin.

“Humam, come look at this,” Amira called to her husband.

The older man limped over to the two women.  Most days, the battle injury that had crushed his leg and caused him to retire as Chieftain of the Twelve Tribes only bothered him slightly.  But the report of his son’s death had made him feel weak.

Humam stopped short of touching the pendant as it was disrespectful to touch a married woman without her permission.

“Please,” asked Jamila.  “Tell me this is not my imagination.”

Humam took the amulet in his hand for a moment, then dropped it back down onto Jamila’s neck.  “It is not your imagination,” he said with a note of wonder.

Just then Kazeem ran up to his mother, curious as to what everyone was so interested in.  He grabbed the pendant and his face lit up.  “Abu!” He held the pendant up to his lips and kissed it, then gently replaced it against his mother’s skin.  “Abu,” he said again, a smile on his face.

Jamila hugged her son tightly.  “Yes, we are going to find your abu and bring him home.” 

“I will go with you.”

The three adults turned to see Natira standing in the doorway of the tent.  In her arms was a bundle similar to the one Jamila had received.

“We found this tied to that man’s horse after we…….” Natira did not need to finish the sentence.  She took a deep breath.  “He obviously meant to keep this, and most likely sell the weapons.”  Natira drew something out of the bundle.  “My husband’s scimitar,” she said, holding it in a shaking hand.

Jamila put her son down and went over to her friend.  “Natira, if Ardeth is still alive, than maybe Musaid is, too.”  She turned to her father-in-law.  “Will you come with us, Humam?”

“Why would you want an old warhorse like me?” he replied, but he noticed his leg was starting to feel better just thinking about riding into battle again.

Amira knew better than to argue with her husband.  “I will go get your robes,” she said.  Humam had not worn the heavy battle robes for a number of years, but Amira had kept them clean and folded away in a chest.

Before long, there was a group of Medjai mounted and ready to leave, with Humam at its head.  Amira had gathered the children together:  their own son Yusef, Kazeem, and Natira’s three children, Sarra, Tali, and Benyamin.    “Are you certain you do not want to stay with them?” Humam asked Jamila for what seemed to be the fifth time.

Jamila looked like a Medjai warrior, albeit a small one.  She was dressed in one of Ardeth’s old robes.  “I think he wore this when he was about twelve,” Amira had said, holding it up against Jamila.  “By the time he was fourteen, he was as tall as a man.”  A tear had escaped from the older woman’s eye as she handed the robe to her daughter-in-law.

“I am going with you.  That is final.  Besides,” a ghost of a smile passed across Jamila’s face. “I am the sayyidah.  You cannot order me around.”

“Only your husband can do that.  And I promise you, my daughter, that we will find him.”

Humam was about to give the order to leave when a figure emerged from a nearby tent.  “Do you have room for one more old man?”  It was Hatim, Jamila’s adoptive father and Humam’s best friend.

“Does Fatima know about this?” asked Humam.  Fatima liked to be the one to make the decisions in their marriage.  Hatim had never seemed to mind and usually deferred to his wife.

“Fatima knows about this and would ride with you if I could,” said Fatima, coming up behind her husband.  She was leading Hatim’s best horse.  She handed the reins to her husband, lightly caressing his hand.

Fatima addressed the group.  “Now I want you all to return in one piece, with our lord and Musaid.”

“We will do our best _habibti_ ,” replied Hatim.

“Are we ready now?” Humam asked.  Receiving nods from everyone, he raised his right hand.  “Yalla!  Imshi!” he shouted, and the group rode off.

Fatima turned and walked over to Amira and the children.  “They are too old for this,” she said, referring to Humam and Hatim.

“We are too old for this,” replied Amira.  “They are acting as if they have just been marked.” 

“Don’t worry, Fatima,” Amira continued.  “They will come back safely, and they will bring Ardeth and Musaid with them.”

“You have always had the utmost faith in your husband,” said Fatima.  Her own husband, while a Medjai warrior, had always been content to be a follower.   Humam, on the other hand, was thought to have been one of the greatest leaders of the Medjai since Kazeem.  She noticed the way Amira’s eyes shone with pride as she watched her husband set out on a dangerous mission.  Fatima knew it took a special kind of woman to be the wife of a Medjai chieftain.  She saw those qualities both in Amira and in her own daughter Jamila. 

***

Ardeth’s arm jerked as the needle again found its way into his vein.  He was shirtless and his arms and legs were tied fast to a heavy chair.  He had tried over and over again during the past days to free himself to no avail.  He was only untied when he was brought to the other tent.  He shuddered involuntarily when he thought about what went on there.

“Now my liebchen,” the woman cooed.  “Shall we try this again?”  The woman Ardeth now knew as Elsa Braun pushed down on the syringe’s plunger. “You have been very brave.  And very stubborn.  I have increased the dosage of the sodium pentothal again.  Eventually, it will either make you talk or kill you.  And we could have such fun if you would just talk to me.”  She reached out her hand as if to caress the Medjai’s cheek but at the last moment slapped his face instead.

“Do not fall asleep on me!” she ordered.  “We have too much to talk about.  I will ask you again.  How does one get into the hidden city?”

Ardeth’s eyes were half closed from a mixture of the drug in his system and the beatings he had received.  He managed to open them and looked the woman straight in the eye.  “I am Ardeth Bay, Commander of the First Tribe of the Medjai, Chieftain of all the Twelve Tribes of the Medjai. Son of Humam, son of Solkar………”  Some days Ardeth could get all the way back to Humay before the other Germans came in and beat him unconscious.  Today, however, his litany was interrupted by someone else.

When Ardeth saw Gaafar early in his captivity, his heart lifted.  Surely the other Medjai warrior was there to save him.  His hopes were dashed when he learned that Gaafar was working for the Germans.

“Why are you doing this?” Ardeth asked one day through cracked lips.

“It’s simple, my dear chieftain.”  Gaafar spat the last word as if it was a curse.  “I am tired of sand.  I am tired of living in it.  I am tired of it in my food, in my clothes, in my women.  I want a soft bed, good wine to drink, and a woman who wears lipstick and nylon stockings instead of a veil.  I have already been paid well, and I will be rewarded even further when are successful.”

“Do you think she will take you back with her when this is finished?”  Ardeth had seen the way Fraulein Braun looked at Gaafar when he was not aware she was looking at him.  “To her, you are just an animal, another horse or a camel, to be used and used up by her.”

Gaafar had wrenched his scimitar from its scabbard.  “I would kill you now for your insult if we did not still need you.  At least, she is not a _sharmuta_ like the woman you married.”

Right then, Ardeth had made a decision.  No matter what else happened, Gaafar would die, preferably by Ardeth’s own hand.

Now Gaafar stood over him again, taunting him.  “I think,” he sneered.  “We shall visit some of your warriors later.  You could earn them a quick and somewhat painless death if you would talk, instead of what you know I have planned for them.”

The Medjai were experts in inflicting pain.  Many an enemy captured in battle took his own life to avoid being captured and interrogated by the black robed warriors.  But Gaafar had added his own stamp to the process. 

Very few Medjai engaged in sex with other men.  It was against their religion, and it was thought to weaken their warrior ability.  Ardeth had never been at a loss for female companionship and when he was out in the desert would provide his own release.  Gaafar was a different matter.  Over the years, Ardeth had heard rumors of Gaafar’s treatment of some of the younger men who, when questioned, always denied that anything had happened.  But because of this, Ardeth had chosen not to promote Gaafar beyond his present rank.  Of course Gaafar became bitter and blamed Ardeth for his lack of promotion.

Now Gaafar had what he wanted.  And he forced Ardeth to watch.

Ardeth would have given his own life for the lives of his men.  However, both he and the other Medjai had taken oaths to protect the secrets of Hamunaptra and he was not going to capitulate, no matter what.  He knew his men understood.  The ones who had already been killed before his eyes had gone to their deaths bravely, looking at their chieftain with eyes full of pride rather than blame.

Looking up at his tormentor, Ardeth managed a wry smile.  “You will be the one who begs for a quick death,” he said, before he passed out from the effects of the truth serum.  Gaafar picked up a jug of water that stood on a table nearby and poured it over Ardeth’s head to try to revive him.  When that did not work, he gave the bound man a vicious kick, toppling the chair, before leaving the tent.

Fraulein Braun watched this exchange with disgust.  She understood enough Arabic to know that her captive’s will was still not broken.  Although she admitted to herself that she enjoyed watching Gaafar torture and sodomize the other Medjai before killing them, she was getting impatient.  There were only a few warriors left alive and she was no closer to getting the information she needed than when she had started.  She knew Gaafar desired her and had so far been able to fend off his amorous advances, but she did not know how long that would last. 

And she was running out of sodium pentothal.

***

The band of Medjai had stopped for the night.  Tents were erected, a fire was built, and a communal meal was cooked.  Unlike the Mongols, the Medjai did not eat horsemeat except in an emergency, and preferred their meat cooked. 

After supper, as the horses were being given one last check, Natira noticed that Sahmir had a Medjai lute tied to his saddle.  “May I borrow this?”  she asked the younger warrior.  Sahmir readily agreed.  His somewhat shy and gentle manner reminded Natira of her own brother Hakim. 

Natira returned to the campfire and sat next to Jamila.  “Would you grace us with a song, sayyidah?” 

Jamila thought for a moment.  “ _I Will Avenge My Brother_ , the way my lord sings it.”  This was a traditionally a Medjai battle song.

The first time Jamila heard Ardeth sing it as a lullaby to their infant son, she was taken aback.  “Are you certain such a song is appropriate for him?” she had asked.  She was not sure that singing a song with a line that went _“I will spill their entrails on the sand,”_ was the best way to get a baby to fall asleep.  Of course, having inherited his father’s deep voice, any song Ardeth sang immediately soothed his son, and this one became one of Kazeem’s favorite bedtime melodies.

Natira tuned the instrument and nodded to her friend.  Jamila began to sing:

I will avenge my brother one hundred times,

The Nile will overflow with my enemies’ tears.

They shall fall before my sword like wheat before a scythe.

Their cries for mercy shall fall on deaf ears.

Jamila sang a number of verses, including the one about the entrails.  When she was finished, she turned to Humam.  “We would be honored to hear your voice, my lord,” she said to her father-in-law.

Humam had a beautiful baritone voice.  “Very well,” he replied, delighted to be asked.  “ _My Word is my Sword_ , please,” he said to Natira.

This song was one of the final oaths a Medjai warrior took set to music.  Humam started to sing and was soon joined by the rest of the warriors.  Jamila did not sing with them.  She knew this song had an almost religious significance to the Medjai, and was content just to listen to the warriors intone the sacred verses under the cathedral of the starry night sky.

Natira played a while longer before returning the lute to Sahmir.  “Why don’t you play something for us, cousin?” she asked.  Many Medjai referred to each other as brother or cousin, preferring not say given names out loud.

Sahmir took the instrument and gave a shy smile.  “I learned a new song the last time I was in Cairo,” he began.  “But it is quite bawdy.  There are parts that may not be proper to sing in front of the sayyidah.”

“I promise I will cover my ears for those parts,” retorted Jamila, laughing for what seemed the first time in weeks.

As they listened to Sahmir, Natira turned to her friend.  “They are so young.  That one barely shaves.” 

“He is older than you were when you took your oaths,” replied Jamila.

“That seems so long ago.”  Natira looked down at the tattoos on her hands.  “I wonder if he is married yet.” 

“Are you looking for a match for one of your daughters?  I think they are still too young.”  Although some tribes allowed betrothals at very young ages, the Medjai did not.  Sarra and Tali were only seven years old.  They would not be allowed to court until they had reached the age of fourteen.

“La, they have already informed me that they are both going to marry your nephew Yusef. “ 

“Both of them?”  Polygamy was not widely practiced among the Medjai, but it was allowed.

“Yes, and they have told me they want to be fine ladies like the sayyidah.”

Jamila looked down at herself.  Her borrowed robed was covered with dust from her ride through the desert.  Although she had wrapped her hands, they were encrusted with dirt from gripping the reins all day and the dirt had found its way under her nails.  She knew her face was tinged with blue dye from the protective veil she had been wearing.  Her long braid, which had at one time been neatly tucked under her turban, was now hanging limply down her back. 

“The sayyidah looks like she could use a bath,” commented Jamila.

“Perhaps, but this is not the way you normally look.”  Jamila’s mother Fatima was an accomplished seamstress and enjoyed making beautiful robes for her daughter.   As far as Sarra and Tali were concerned, Jamila always looked like a queen.

“I was thinking about Zahara,” Natira said, returning to the subject of Sahmir.  Zahara was Musaid’s sister.  Their father had died years earlier and when their mother had recently joined him in Paradise, Zahara had come to live with her brother and his family.

“Isn’t she young?” asked Jamila.

“She’s sixteen,” replied Natira.  “About the same age as you were when you met our Chieftain.  She’s great with the kids, she can cook, and she can sew.  I think our lute-playing warrior would be perfect for her.  But she’s very shy.”

“Not like you.”

“Not like me now, and not like me then.  Musaid and I have made a perfect match, even though I know we are somewhat untraditional.”  There were almost no female Medjai, and the idea of one not only marrying but bearing children was practically unheard of. 

“He is the other half of me,” Natira continued softly.

Jamila reached over and took her friend’s hand.  “We will find them both.  We will find them and bring them home.”

Natira tried to smile.  “And here I am the warrior.  I’m supposed to be comforting you,” she said wryly.

“We will comfort each other,” replied Jamila.

After the sentries were posted, everyone else retired to their tents.  Jamila and Natira were sharing one.  As Natira had volunteered for the first shift of guard duty, Jamila was alone. Unlike the tents back in the village, campaign tents had no floors.  It was cold in the desert at night, so Jamila dug a depression in the sand before unrolling her bedroll.  The sand below the surface still held some of the heat of the day.  She slept fully clothed, aware that her robes would provide an extra measure of warmth.  Jamila knew the only thing that would really warm her was the feel of her husband’s arms around her, and she sobbed quietly into her pillow before falling into a fitful sleep, clutching his amulet in her hand.

The next morning Jamila woke to find Natira sleeping next to her.  _“I guess I actually did get some sleep,”_ she thought.  As she moved to get up, Natira stirred and immediately grabbed her scimitar, which she had placed next to her.

“It’s just me, Natira.”

The warrior sheepishly lowered her weapon.  “Sorry, it’s just that the closer we get to Hamunaptra the jumpier I get.” 

“Did anything happen when you were on duty last night?”

“La.  Nothing beyond the usual spooky noises coming from that direction.”  Natira pointed towards the City of the Dead.  Sounds had a tendency to travel in strange ways in the desert, and the warriors all swore they could hear Hamunaptra long before they could see it.

“Will we get there today?”  Jamila asked anxiously.  She had never been to Hamunaptra.  What she knew about it was what she had learned from others.  Ardeth had said it was not a place she wanted to visit, so she had never asked him to take her there.

“Humam sent scouts out last night.  We should move out soon and meet up with them along the way.”

After the horses were fed and watered, the Medjai had a breakfast of porridge and dried fruit.

“I always tell Kazeem he needs to eat his porridge so he will grow up to be a strong Medjai chieftain like his abu,” Jamila remarked, desultorily pushing the food around in her bowl.

“Does that work?” asked Natira. 

“Not as well as I would like. “  Jamila took another spoonful.  “This stuff is quite terrible, you know.  I can understand why Kazeem doesn’t want to eat it.”

“Add more fruit,” suggested Natira.  She had almost finished her bowl.  “And honey.”

“We don’t have any honey.”

Natira reached into her robe.  “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered, offering a small flask to her friend.

“Where did you get this?” asked Jamila.

“Ancient Medjai warrior secret.  If I told you…..”

“Yes, I know, you would have to kill me.”  Jamila poured some of the honey into her bowl.

“S _hukran_ ,” she said, returning the bottle to her friend.  She tasted the concoction. “This is much better,” she admitted.

“Eat it all.  We don’t know when we will be able to eat again.”

Jamila had never been on such a journey.  For Natira and the other warriors, this was just another day.  Jamila had always respected the warriors, but she now had a new level of understanding as to the kind of life they led.  The way they accepted hardship with grace, invention and equanimity made her proud that she had been adopted by them and even more honored to be their sayyidah.

***

Musaid had been stripped and tied face down to the table.  Gaafar stood over him, admiring his handiwork. 

“We will have a special treat today,” sneered Gaafar.  “Maybe your exalted chieftain will finally decide to talk when he sees his best friend being raped.”

“I should have been made a sub-commander, not you,” continued Gaafar.  But perhaps, perhaps there is some other reason you were given that position?”  He reached over to stroke Musaid’s bruised back.  “I wager this will not be the first time you have known the feel of a man inside you.”

Musaid frantically tried to get away from Gaafar’s hand, but he was unable to.  “You are an abomination,” he spat.

“Maybe I am, but I am not the one tied down.”

In the other tent, Elsa Braun was preparing her final dosage of truth serum.  “I will give you one more chance. This is twice the amount I last gave you, and it is all I have.  If you do not tell me what I want to know, I will let Gaafar loose on your friend.  You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

Ardeth began his recitation even before the needle slipped into his arm.  This time, he did not even get as far as Solkar before he sagged unconscious in his bonds.

“Too much!” the German woman cursed.  She left the tent, so intent on her own problems she did not notice the silent riders on the ridge above her.

At Humam’s signal, the Medjai descended on the city.  It was easy to pick out the blonde woman in the ensuing panic.  Humam caught up with her as she dashed back into the tent she had recently left.  He leapt off his horse and rushed in after her, stopping abruptly when he saw Ardeth slumped over, tied to a chair.

The woman stared at Humam for a moment before attempting to rush past him.  She did not make it out of the door, running directly into Jamila’s grasp.

The German woman struggled.  “Wait! I have money!  Lots of money! You can’t do this to me!” she protested.  “You and this, this camel-girl!”

Jamila’s knife seemed to materialize in her hand.  “I am no camel-girl,” she hissed.  She looked up at Humam, seeking permission to use the blade.

Humam had a better idea.  “She wants to get into the hidden city?  Very well, we shall grant her request.”  He grabbed the woman by the arm. 

“See to your husband, daughter,” he said softly as he propelled the struggling Elsa Braun out of the tent.

Jamila ran over to Ardeth, who was beginning to stir.  She knelt down beside his chair and brushed the hair out of his eyes.  “Ardeth, Ardeth, please wake up!”

Ardeth looked up with eyes clouded by confusion.  “I am Ardeth Bay…” he began again, not recognizing his wife’s face.

“Ardeth, it’s me, Jamila,” his wife said urgently, frantically using her knife to cut the ropes tying her husband to the chair.

The Medjai suddenly focused on the amulet at his wife’s throat. Jamila looked down, following his eyes.  “Yes, that’s yours.  Here, let me…..”

Jamila removed the pendant and placed it over her husband’s head.  As it made contact with his skin, Ardeth’s eyes seemed to clear and he looked up at his wife in shaky recognition.

“Jamila?  Is it really you or am I imagining it again?”  One of the side effects of the truth serum was vivid hallucinations.  Ardeth, while unconscious, had dreamed over and over again about his wife.

Jamila grabbed Ardeth’s hand, interlacing their fingers.  “It’s me, my love.  We’ve come to rescue you.  Your father, Natira, all of us.”

“Musaid…..you must stop them….” Ardeth mumbled, trying to stay conscious.

“Do not worry, my husband.  We will find him,” replied Jamila.

Meanwhile, Humam was hurrying the German woman towards one of the hidden entrances to the underground city.  She seemed to have regained her composure and now looked at the man holding her arm with a calculating gaze.  “We could share the treasure, share the power,” she simpered.  “You are so big and strong.  I would let you do anything you wanted to me.”

Humam looked down at the woman and sighed in resignation.  It was always the same when it came to the secrets hidden under the sand.  This woman was like a viper.  Humam thought of his own wife and allowed himself a small smile, thinking of how Amira would react to such improper advances on her husband.

Elsa, of course, took Humam’s change of expression as an indication that he was considering her offer.  “Have you ever had a white woman before?” she asked breathlessly, as Humam steered her across the sand. 

“Silence!” the Medjai growled, forcing Elsa up against a stone wall that was half buried in the sand.  He beat a complicated tattoo against the hieroglyphs inscribed in the stone and a portion of the wall swung away, revealing one of the treasure rooms.

Occasionally someone managed to breech the outer door and found themselves in such a room, However, getting into the rest of the underground complex, where the sarcophagus of He-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named was hidden, would be an impossible task for anyone who did not know where the booby-traps and secret panels were located.  Only Humam, Ardeth, and other male members of the House of Bay were privy to that information.  Humam knew someday both his son Yusef and Ardeth’s son would join that elite group He viewed that day with both pride and trepidation.

The room was dark, but the daylight streaming through the door cast enough light to illuminate the gold within.  There were piles of gold coins, jeweled goblets, and other golden objects scattered ankle deep on the floor.

“Is this what you were looking for?” Humam asked, shoving Elsa through the door.

Elsa was astonished.  Her eyes could not take in all the opulence before her.  Before she could reply, Humam pushed the woman down the short flight of low steps at the entrance to the room.  She landed on the ground with a thump.

Humam turned to leave as Elsa struggled to her feet.  “Wait!” she said.  “You’re not going to leave me alone here!”

Humam pointed to a skeleton not far from the door, its head topped incongruously by a red fez. 

“I think you will have plenty of company.”  Humam’s ears had already picked up the soft skittering sound of tiny feet in the darkness.  He backed out of the doorway and pressed a hidden lever.  The door slid back into place with a scraping sound of rock against rock.  Humam put his ear against the door and was able to faintly hear the screams of the German  
woman before they abruptly ceased.

Humam turned and hurried back to the area where his warriors were rounding up the rest of the Germans.  As he passed by one of the other tents, he heard a commotion inside and went to investigate.

Natira and two of the other Medjai were holding a resisting Gaafar.  “My lord!” cried Gaafar.  “I beg you, tell your men to let me go!  I’m on your side!  I was being kept prisoner here!”

Humam’s gaze was drawn to the sight of Musaid, still tied naked on the table.  He approached the prone man.  “My son,” he said gently, cutting the ropes that bound Musaid and helping him up.  “Is that one telling the truth?”

“No, lord. He was working with the Germans.  He was about to, about to….”

Humam looked around.  The floor of the tent was sticky with blood and other substances Humam wished he was unable to identify.  He turned to the warriors restraining Gaafar.  “Tie him to that tent pole,” he ordered.  Then he addressed Natira, who had now removed her outer robe and was wrapping it around her husband.

“Do you claim the right of retribution?” asked Humam.

“Aiwa, lord.”  Natira’s eyes glittered dangerously.

Humam spoke to the other warriors.  “Let us leave.” 

The two men looked relieved.  Although Medjai were not particularly squeamish, they knew what Gaafar’s fate was going to be and they were glad they were not going to have to witness it.

As they left, the men could hear Natira’s voice as she approached Gaafar.  “Did you know,” she said, taking her knife out of her belt.  “That when our ancestors performed the Hom-Dai, the tongue was not the only thing they cut off?”

Gaafar’s screams sounded inhuman as they rose above the city.

Natira stepped away from Gaafar as she wiped her knife on her tunic.  He was still alive, but just barely.  Bending over, Natira picked up those parts of Gaafar that she had most recently cut off and forced them into his mouth. “That’s much better,” she nodded with a grim smile.

Musaid looked wordlessly at his wife.  He knew what the penalty for rape was.  A man convicted of that crime would be handed over to the women of the tribe, and they would exact the punishment.  He flinched as Natira turned to him, her knife still in her hand.

“Do you feel sorry for him?” Natira asked, noticing her husband’s discomfort.

“No, it’s just, you know...”

“Do not worry, my husband.  I have a different treatment in mind for you, when you have recovered from your ordeal.”  Natira could feel her blood rushing hot through her veins because of what she had just done.  It now translated into desire towards her husband.

Musaid, as a warrior, understood this phenomenon. There was always a surge of births nine months after a battle.

“I am still be bit unsteady, my wife,” answered Musaid.  “But I look forward to your treatment.”  He managed a shaky smile. 

Natira sheathed her knife and went over to her husband.  “Come, let’s get you out of the noisome tent,” she said, draping his arm around her shoulder so she could support him.  As they left, Gaafar’s body gave one last twitch and then was still.

Natira and Musaid met Jamila and Ardeth in the center of the camp.  Each man was leaning painfully on his own wife, but when they saw each other they raised their right arms in salute.

“You are still alive, my brother,” Ardeth said with a smile of relief, grasping Musaid’s wrist with his hand.

“As are you, my lord,” replied Musaid, returning the gesture.

“What of Gaafar?” asked Ardeth, remembering his vow.

“My wife dealt with him,” replied Musaid proudly.  Then he added, “It would be better if you did not see what remains of him.”

Ardeth nodded, understanding immediately.

“And the other Germans?” he asked.

“You are the Chieftain, their fate is up to you.”

Ardeth thought for a moment.  “Let them go,” he said.  “Let them go back to their people and tell them what happens to those who seek to disturb our sacred places.  That is, if they survive the desert.”  The Germans would be stripped of their weapons and water and sent out on foot.   Ardeth knew the chances of them making it out of the desert alive were almost nonexistent.  Rick O’Connell had done it, but he was Medjai, even though he had not known it at the time.  Somehow so had Beni Gabor, but Ardeth personally thought that the Hungarian had received some help from the Libyans or another source. 

After the Germans were herded protesting out of the city, the Medjai set to work building a funeral pyre for their fallen comrades.  Because of the shifting sands of the desert, the honored dead were not buried.  The Medjais’ bodies would be cremated and their ashes would be spread in the desert. Their weapons and other personal possessions would be returned to their families. 

Gaafar’s body was left out for the jackals.

“This cursed place has now claimed even more lives,” said Humam as he stood next to Hatim watching the fire.  “I would that we could hide it from human eyes forever.” 

“You said the same thing twenty years ago,” Hatim reminded his friend.

“Yes I did, my friend.  And it never changes.  This place is pure evil, and those it seduces are infected with that same malevolence.” 

Ardeth and Musaid approached to the two older men.  Their wounds had been dressed and they were again wearing their robes and weapons, which Jamila and Natira had brought along.

“I am glad to hear you are feeling better, my son,” said Humam.  “This old man is happy to return to retirement.”

“I agree,” added Hatim. “We are getting too old for all this fun.” 

The two older men looked at each other, eyes sparkling.

“Still,” continued Humam.  “It was good to go on one more campaign.  Especially a successful one.”

“Not so successful for the Germans,” replied Hatim.

“The Germans are a troublesome lot,” interjected Ardeth.  “When I was in Cairo, I asked Abdul to gather information about them.  It seems we are seeing more and more of their kind.”

“Let’s not go to Cairo again too soon,” said Musaid.  “That’s how this whole mess started.”

The four men turned to gaze at the fire, each with their own thoughts.

Jamila and Natira were with the horses.  Neither of them wanted to watch the funeral pyre.  “I think I will ask my lord to ride with me, at least for today.  He’s still a bit weak from all those drugs,” said Jamila, adjusting  Shehzadi’s bridle.  

“Would you like to carry the Chieftain today?” Jamila cooed, rubbing her face right up against her horse’s nose. 

“Sometimes I think you love that animal more than you love your husband,” Natira said, laughing.  Shehzadi had been Ardeth’s wedding gift to Jamila.

“I was thinking of breeding her with Askari again,” remarked Jamila.  Askari was Ardeth’s large white Arabian stallion.  “I’d love to have a foal by him to give to Kazeem.”

“I’m sure Askari would like that.  Shehzadi is such a pretty thing and Askari has always had an eye for the ladies, just like his master.”

Jamila giggled.  In truth, it was the ladies that had an eye for her husband.

“How are you going to persuade our Chieftain to ride with you?” added Natira.  “We have plenty of extra horses.”  The Germans had been forced out into the desert on foot.  Their horses would now be absorbed into the Medjais’ herd.

“I think I’ll tell him that I can’t bear to be separated from him and I want to feel his arms around me.  That’s actually true, and he won’t suspect I have any other reasons.”

“Musaid seems well enough to ride on his own,” said Natira.  “He was not drugged, just beaten.  We’ll see Saleemah when we return home, but I’m confident nothing was broken.” 

It was not difficult to persuade Ardeth to ride with his wife.  He accepted her explanation at face value, secretly relieved that he would not have to ride on his own.  He was still having instances of vertigo, but he assumed they would disappear when the vestiges of the truth serum were out of his system.

By the time the pyre had been reduced to ash, the Medjai were ready to leave.  Ardeth and Jamila were at the front of the troop.  This was a new experience for Jamila, and she craned her head around to see everyone waiting for her husband’s signal.  Jamila snuggled back against her husband’s robes, her hands on the reins.  “Shehzadi knows me,” she had explained.  Medjai typically used bitless bridles on their horses.  When a rider and horse knew each other, such a bridle was substantially painless for a horse.  In the hands of an inexperienced rider or one who was not familiar with a particular horse, this type of bridle could be extremely painful to the horse’s sensitive nose.  While Ardeth had been riding almost since he could walk, Shehzadi was Jamila’s horse and Jamila could control her with the merest tug on the reins.  

Ardeth gave the signal, and the Medjai started off without a backward glance.  “Come on, sweetie,” said Jamila, leaning over to whisper in her horse’s ear.  “Let’s go home.”

Unlike the frantic race to Hamunaptra, the return trip was done at a more leisurely pace, if you could call the progress of a company of Medjai traveling through the desert leisurely.

The Medjai stopped for the night at one of the oases which dotted the desert like emeralds.  Between the gentle gait of the horse beneath him and the warmth of his wife in his arms, Ardeth felt much better.   His headache and dizziness were all but forgotten.  He dismounted first and reached up to help Jamila down.  Even in her borrowed robes she seemed to weigh next to nothing. 

“Tomorrow I will ride by myself,” Ardeth murmured, placing a quick kiss on the top of Jamila’s head.   “Holding you against me all day is too distracting.”

Jamila knew it was a good sign to hear Ardeth talk like this.  She had felt his arousal while they were riding but chose not to mention it in case Ardeth still felt weak.  Now Jamila looked up at her husband, her eyes twinkling impishly.  “My apologies, my lord.  Perhaps there is some way I can make it up to you?”

The Medjai were expert at setting up and breaking camp.  Before long, tents had been erected and a stew containing dried meat and some of the vegetables that grew wild in the oasis was cooking.  After supper, some of the men broke into small groups to play basra or tarneeb.  Although the Medjai did not gamble, they played cards for enjoyment.  After a while, Jamila drew Ardeth away from the game he was watching, much to the knowing looks of the players.

The amount of privacy afforded by a campaign tent was somewhere between slim and none.  Jamila knew that anything that went on would be the subject of conversation the next day, of course out of earshot of herself or Ardeth.  She also knew that the best way for Ardeth to prove that he was recovered and able to resume his command was by having his men hear him bedding his wife.

Jamila led Ardeth into their tent, fastening the door behind them.  Unlike their tent at home, there was no furniture, just two bedrolls and the packs from the horses containing spare clothes and a few personal items. 

“Let me take care of you, my husband,” crooned Jamila, as she deftly removed Ardeth’s bandoleers and weapons, then his robes, then his tunic.  She maneuvered Ardeth down onto one of the bedrolls, knelt down, and pulled off his boots.  When she reached up to untie his pants, running her fingers briefly over his crotch, Ardeth grabbed her hands.  Jamila looked up at her husband’s face, wondering why he had stopped her.  She was afraid that he would tell her he was too tired, too weak, but then she saw the way his dark eyes flashed at her.

“You vex me, woman,” Ardeth growled.  “You tease me, making promises, and yet you are still fully clothed.”

Jamila smiled to herself in relief.  “Forgive me, my lord,” she said.  “I only meant to make you more comfortable.”  She stood up and slipped her robe over her head, glad she had removed her outer robe earlier.

“Does this please you, my Chieftain?” she asked, lowering her eyes.  Both she and Ardeth enjoyed playing this game.

“It will please me more when you are underneath me and I am inside you!” Ardeth declared, slipping out of his pants. 

Jamila never tired of looking at her husband naked.  She knew every muscle and every plane by sight, touch, and taste.  Over time, she had learned the detail of every tattoo and every scar.  But what she saw now made her want to cry.  There was almost no part of Ardeth’s body that was not covered with some sort of bruise or mark.  Even the area around his groin bore what Jamila could only assume were cigarette burns.  A constellation of purple spots on his left arm indicated where Ardeth had been injected with the sodium pentothal.

 “Please, my husband, allow my lips to touch you every place they hurt you,” said Jamila, kneeling back down at her husband’s side. 

Ardeth sighed in contentment.  Coupling could wait.  The feel of his wife’s lips on his skin would wipe away any pain he still felt. 

By the time Jamila had worked her way down his legs, Ardeth’s body was buzzing and his erection stood straight up, demanding attention.  Ardeth pulled Jamila up to face him, one hand automatically snaking down between her legs.   She was already wet, aroused by the simple act of caressing her husband’s skin.  Ardeth gently inserted one long finger between Jamila’s folds.  Even after giving birth to their son, Jamila was still very tight.  Ardeth groaned as he moved his finger, imagining what it would feel like when his manhood replaced his digit.

Before long, Jamila started moving against the intruding finger, making little sounds that told Ardeth how close she was to orgasm.  “Get over on your stomach,” he ordered, taking his hand away. 

Jamia immediately complied, laying on her stomach with her legs spread.  Ardeth straddled her, keeping most of his weight off of her, his erection pressing against Jamila’s back.  Reaching behind himself, he pushed two fingers into Jamila’s wet heat and began thrusting them in and out.  Ardeth knew that this was one of Jamila’s favorite positions and she would climax very quickly and very hard.  He was soon rewarded by her cries of completion and the feel of her convulsing around his fingers. After she had recovered, Ardeth rolled Jamila over onto her back and lifted her legs up so that they rested on his shoulders.  Ardeth was very well endowed and this position allowed him to go deeper than he would be able to if they were stomach to stomach.  After what seemed like too short a time, Ardeth felt the tingling that indicated he was about to climax.  He started to thrust even more forcefully, finally letting go with a roar.

_“Yes, I’m sure everyone heard that,”_ Jamila thought lazily.  She smiled up at her husband, noticing the sheen of sweat on his face and chest.  “All better now?” she asked sweetly.

“I cannot feel anything,” Ardeth replied.

Jamila contracted the muscles that were still gripping her husband’s manhood.

“Except that,” moaned Ardeth.

The next morning, as Ardeth walked through the camp, he knew his men were looking at him with a new respect.  He found his father packing the tent he shared with Hatim.  “I knew what she was doing,” Ardeth remarked.  “Allah has blessed me with a wife who is not only beautiful, she is smart.”

“That can be both a curse and a blessing, my son,” replied Humam with a smile.   “And I should know.  Allah has blessed us both.”

“Should I have refused my wife’s favors?” asked Ardeth in mock protest.  “What was I to do?  She forced herself on me in my time of weakness!”

The rest of the trip home was uneventful.  After that first day, Ardeth rode his own horse and Jamila took her place in the middle of the group, protected on all sides by Medjai warriors.  Most of the time she rode next to Natira, who pointed out various places along their journey.

“This is where we found six Legion camels,” Natira said, indicating a sand dune that looked to Jamila like every other sand dune they had passed.

“How can you tell where you are?” asked Jamila.

“By the stars at night, by the way the outcroppings of rock look, by the way the sun slants at certain times of the day.  Ask our lord how O’Connell found Hamunaptra.”

As the Medjai neared the village, Natira rode up to the head of the company.  “I would ask your leave to ride ahead and inform our people of your safe return, sayyid,” she said to Ardeth.

Ardeth turned to look at his wife, who was scrupulously avoiding her husband’s eyes.  “Very well,” he said.  “Would you please inform my lady wife that I require her presence before you leave?”

“Aiwa, my lord.”  Natira turned her horse and rode back to Jamila.

“We’re in trouble now,” said Natira to her friend.  “He wants to see you, and he has that look in his eye.”

“You mean the look he gets when he is about to slice someone into ribbons?  I think we’ve been caught,” laughed Jamila.  However else he was with others, Ardeth was never anything but gentle and loving with her.

Jamila watched as Natira kicked her horse and rode off into the direction of the village.  She gave a light tug on Shehzadi’s reins and was soon riding next to her husband. 

Ardeth looked at his wife, trying unsuccessfully to maintain his stern expression.  Jamila looked back at him silently, an expression of pure innocence on her face.  Finally, Ardeth spoke.  “Do you want to tell me what is going on?”

“No?”

“Let us try this another way.  My wife, tell me what is going on.”

“Oh, as you wish, my husband.  Do you know Sahmir?”

Ardeth thought a moment.  He really did wish he knew all of his warriors by name, but the names of the younger ones, and the ones from other tribes, were sometimes almost impossible to remember. 

“He’s riding over there.”  Jamila motioned with her head towards the young warrior riding towards the edge of the group.  “La, don’t look!” she said, as Ardeth made to turn his head.

“What about him?”  Ardeth knew he was being drawn into another one of his wife’s plots, but could not resist a smile.  _“She is so much like my mother,”_ he thought.

 “He’s not married, or betrothed, right?”

“My wife, I do not keep track of the romantic entanglements of my warriors.”

“Well as far as we know he is not.”

“And….?”

“And Natira and I were thinking he would be perfect for Zahara so Natira wanted to go on ahead and get her ready,”  Jamila said in a rush of words.

Now Ardeth did turn and looked with an appraising eye at the young warrior.  “Aiwa, I do recall him.  He showed bravery at Hamunaptra.”  Ardeth paused.  “Very well, I approve the match.  You ladies just like him because he is, as Evelyn would say, cute.”

Jamila blushed.  “He is not unattractive, my lord.”

“Is that why you fell in love with me, _kalila_?  Because I was cute?”

“You are most definitely not cute.  You, my husband, are incredibly handsome.  But that is not why I fell in love with you.  I fell in love with you because you are pure of heart.”

Now Ardeth felt like blushing and was glad his veil hid most of his face.  “They say that a woman is like a lock, waiting for the right key to open her heart,” he said.

Jamila immediately understood the double entendre.  “Perhaps we can see if your key will open my lock later?”

“You may rely on that, my wife.”

Natira rode into the village without stopping at the sentries.  She heard them whistle as she went past them, the code indicating a friend was approaching.  Even in her robes, Natira was easily identified by the long braid whipping behind her and the way she sat her horse.

“You ride like a girl,” Musaid was fond of telling her.  Most of the warriors rode sitting somewhat straight up.  Natira tended to lean forward as it gave more power to her legs against her horse’s body.

Natira did not bother to stable her horse but instead rode right up to Humam and Amira’s tent.  Leaping down, she forgot her etiquette for a moment and simply burst in.

Amira had heard the whistles and knew someone was coming.  However, when she saw it was Natira she dropped the bowl of taro she was mashing.  Amira’s look of alarm quickly turned to joy when Natira removed her veil.  A broad smile creased the younger woman’s face.

“They’re alive!  They’re fine! They’ll be back soon!”  Natira looked down at the bowl on the floor.

“I’m sorry about this, Amira,” she said, bending down to try to scoop up the taro.

“I can always get more qilqas,” said Amira, using the colloquial Egyptian word.  “It’s the husband and son I can’t replace.  Allah is merciful.”

 Natira unconsciously licked her fingers.  “Needs more garlic,” she said.  “Your men have been eating field rations.”

“My men!”  replied Amira, smiling.  “I’d better get cooking!”

Word spread quickly, and by the time Natira stabled her horse the entire village knew their Chieftain was on his way home.  When Natira entered her own tent, she found her children, along with Kazeem and Yusef, in a state of happy excitement.  “Your abu is coming home!” she said, grabbing her youngest and swinging him in the air.  She did the same with Kazeem and Yusef.  Finally she looked at her two daughters and reached out her hands.

“Ume!” said Sarra, rolling her eyes.  “We are too big for that.”  But both girls ran into their mother’s arms for a hug.

Natira turned to Zahara, who was standing quietly nearby. “Go change your clothes,” she ordered.  “Put on something pretty, that robe that Jamila gave you.”  Zahara had complimented Jamila on her robe one day, and the next day Jamila gave it to her.

Zahara looked at her sister-in-law in confusion.

“There’s a young warrior riding back with the other men that I want you to meet.”

Zahara started to protest, but Natira cut her off.  “Trust me, sister.  I have ridden with him and I know he is a good man.”

“What about the children?” Zahara asked in a final effort to resist.

“We’ll bring them with us.  I’m sure they all want to see their fathers.”

When Zahara returned from changing her clothes, she and Natira, the children in tow, walked to the entrance of the village.  A joyful crowd had already gathered.

Natira looked down at the group of children, thinking quickly.

“Tali, Sarra, you go greet the sayyid and sayyidah.  Take Kazeem with you.  Benyamin, come with me, we’ll go see your abu.  Yusef, your ume’s over there.”  She pointed at Amira, who waved her son over. 

“Now who’s left?”  She looked at Zahara as if seeing her for the first time.

“Zahara, you look lovely, now that you’re not surrounded by the kids and I can actually see you.”  Natira sometimes thought her sister-in-law surrounded herself with the children so no one would notice her.

Natira had not bothered to change her clothes.  She had removed her battle robe and most of her weapons, but was still wearing her black under robe, tunic, trousers, and boots.  She looked around at the other women who were all dressed in light colored flowing robes and felt like a crow that had flown into a flock of finches.  Then she saw her husband, and the idea that she compared unfavorably to the other women was banished from her mind.

Ardeth and Jamila rode at the head of the party, with Musaid at Ardeth’s side.  _“As it should be,”_ thought Natira, her heart swelling with pride.  Humam rode next to Jamila.  The rest of the warriors were arrayed behind them.

A group of the older boys came forward to take the horses.  These boys in the process of learning what they needed to know to become warriors and viewed the older men with awe.  Ardeth always made it a point to learn the boys’ names and give them what encouragement he could.

“Take care of our horses, Bashir,” said Ardeth, handing the reins to both his and Jamila’s horse to one of the boys.  Bashir was the son of Faris, who was in charge of the stables, and Ardeth knew the animals would be in good hands.

“ _Shukran_ , my lord,” answered Bashir, pleased to be entrusted with his Chieftain’s horses. 

Once the animals were led away, the crowd of people that had been waiting impatiently converged on the returning warriors.  Fatima had somehow managed to be in the front of the crowd, and after she presented her husband with a hug and the traditional bowl of water, she made her way over to Jamila. 

Jamila and Ardeth were accepting water from the twins.  When Ardeth bent down to pick up his son, Sarra stopped him.

“Please, Sayyid, the young sayyid has something to show you.”

Tali whispered in Kazeem’s ear “Show your abu what we practiced.”

Kazeem raised his right arm and solemnly grabbed his father’s arm in the  Medjai greeting, touching Ardeth’s tattoo with the part of his own wrist where he would someday be marked.  Ardeth looked back at his son just as solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“Did you take care of our village while I was gone, my lord?”  Ardeth asked his son.

“We helped!” interrupted Sarra. 

Ardeth laughed, lifting his son to his shoulders.  Jamila had told him about the twins’ plans to marry his brother Yusef.  _“If they are this bossy now what will they be like later?”_ he thought.

“I am sure you all did a good job, and I thank you.  Now I am sure your abu would like to see you.”

Sarra and Tali bowed and ran off, leaving Kazeem in his father’s arms.

“I like the robe,” Ardeth remarked.  Kazeem was wearing a small black robe almost identical to the one Ardeth wore.

“Well the sayyid must look the part,” replied Jamila.  “I remember Yusef dressed like this as an infant.  Do you remember his party?”

“I remember that was the night I realized I wanted you for my wife, _kalila_.”

“I remember watching you and Musaid and dreaming of the same thing.”

Kazeem had begun to fidget in his father’s arms, and when he saw Fatima approaching he insisted on being put down.

“I’m afraid Amira and I have spoiled him while you were away,” Fatima said, giving Jamila a hug.  “He’s just such a sweet baby.”

“Not baby, chieftain!” Kazeem piped up, looking up at his grandmother.

“My apologies, young sayyid,” said Fatima with a smile. 

Meanwhile, Amira and Yusef were enjoying their reunion with Humam.  “How is your leg, husband?” Amira asked. 

“My leg is fine, my wife.  In fact, I may start riding out on patrol again!”

Amira looked at Humam in shock before she realized he was joking.

“It will be nice to sleep in my own bed again,” Humam continued.  “I am afraid I have become soft in my old age.”

Amira leaned over to whisper something in her husband’s ear. 

“Perhaps we can have Yusef stay with some friends tonight,” Humam said in reply, gently caressing his wife’s cheek.

Natira had greeted her husband with somewhat less fervor than the rest of the wives greeted their husbands.  After all, she had been riding with him just hours before.  She left him in the care of their children and went off to look for Zahara and Sahmir.

When the warriors had ridden into camp, Natira had pointed out the young Medjai to Zahara. 

“Oh he’s very handsome,” Zahara breathed, when Sahmir removed his veil.  “He must have lots of girls.”

“No he doesn’t.  He’s been waiting for you.  Trust me.  Now go!”  With that, she gave Zahara a gentle push in the direction of the warriors.

After a few moments, Natira casually walked over to where Sahmir and Zahara were standing.  “I see you have met my sister,” Natira said to Sahmir, a little more forcefully than she intended.

Sahmir blanched.  “Your sister?  Well, I was just leaving.  I need to go back to the barracks and, um….”

“Why don’t you come to supper later?” said Natira, trying to put Sahmir at ease.  “I’m sure Zahara is cooking something delicious.  She’s a very good cook.”

Sahmir looked at Zahara.  _“I’ve noticed her before.  She’s very pretty,”_ he thought.  _“What’s the worst thing Natira could do to me?  Oh yes, that.”_ He straightened his shoulders.  “I would be honored to join you for a meal,” he said, trying to sound brave.

After Sahmir left, Zahara turned to her sister-in-law.  “What was that all about?”

“Just some warrior stuff.  Nothing important.”   Natira recalled that Sahmir had been one of the men in the tent with Gaafar.  “So, what did you think of him?”

“He seems very nice.  Do you think he likes me?”

“Why shouldn’t he?  Just be yourself, Zahara, and everything will work out.” As the two women, walked back to their tent, Natira thought of her courtship with Musaid.

_They moved through the village like princes, the young Chieftain-to-be and his friend.  Their black robes swirled about their feet as if daring a speck of sand to adhere to them.  Their scimitars winked in the sunlight as if they were made of gold.  Their tattoos only accentuated the perfect lines of their faces._

_Natira looked down at her hands.  She had those same tattoos, although she seldom examined the ones on her face.  Vanity was for other girls.  She was a warrior.  It had seemed natural for her, growing up with five older brothers, to follow in their footsteps.  When the other girls were braiding their hair, she was sharpening her scimitar.  When the other girls were being courted, she was mucking out the stables.  When the other girls were getting married, she was taking her final oaths as a Medjai warrior.  Natira had seldom felt she had missed out on anything until she saw the two men walking through her village.  But it was not Ardeth Bay who caught her eye.  It was the man walking beside him._

_Natira knew Musaid by reputation.  As Ardeth Bay’s best friend, it was assumed he would someday be his second-in-command.  Natira had expected him to be a rough warrior but instead saw a man who seemed almost soft.  Both his hair and his beard were soft and curly.  His walk was graceful, almost languid. And in comparison to the young Chieftain’s serious expression, Musaid seemed to be constantly smiling._

_That day, the latest crop of warriors, including Natira, was called upon to demonstrate their skills. When they paired off, Natira was left without a partner._

_“I would be honored to spar with you,” a gentle voice said._

_Natira turned almost too quickly and found herself face to face with Musaid.  “The honor would be mine,” she managed to say.  Musaid was known as the best swordsman among the Medjai after Humam, their Chieftain._

_When Natira was two years old, she had picked up one of her older brothers’ scimitars and had almost never been without one in her hand since.  She was quite proficient with the weapon, but compared to Musaid, she felt clumsy, her movements jerky and ungainly.  Eventually, she wound up with her back to Musaid and his practice scimitar up against her throat.  “Do you submit?” he asked almost in a whisper, pulling her up against him._

_Under normal circumstances, Natira would have been offended.  Musaid held her so closely to him that she could feel the contours of his body.  But for some reason, instead of a cold anger, she felt a warmth that radiated through her body._

_“Do you submit?”  Musaid asked again._

_“Aiwa.”_

_Musaid lowered his weapon but kept Natira against him with his other arm.  “I have never fought with a warrior whose hair smelled like jasmine,” he remarked, too low to be heard by anyone else._

_As if under a spell, Natira replied.  “Yasmeen is my middle name.”  Natira never told that to anyone.  To her, being named after a flower did not fit in with her identity as a warrior._

_“You fought well,” said Musaid, reluctantly releasing Natira.  “I should like a rematch,” he added, bowing, an almost predatory smile on his lips.  Natira automatically returned the bow, unsure of what else to do._

_Musaid turned to Ardeth, who had been watching the demonstration.  “Shall we show them how it’s done?” he asked._

_Ardeth was already removing his robe and entered the training ring with a smile.  A crowd had already gathered and many of the single women longingly eyed the two men.  Natira did not even notice the future Chieftain.  Her gaze was on Musaid, remembering his strong arms and the way his soft breath felt on her hair._

_Ardeth and Musaid dispensed with the blunt-edged practice scimitars, preferring to use their own razor sharp weapons.  It was obvious to any onlooker that they had fought together like this before, as the blades never actually drew blood.  Ardeth was the taller and broader of the two men, but Musaid used his own smaller size to his advantage, allowing Ardeth’s own momentum to propel him past his friend._

_After a while, both men were covered with sweat and sand.  They had both removed their tunics, and Natira was transfixed by the sight of Musaid’s muscular torso.  She shook her head to dispel the image, but found her eyes were drawn right back to Musaid.  These feelings were something new to Natira.  She had never really been courted.  Most of the men in her village wanted a wife who could cook and sew, not one who could best them both with the scimitar and in hand-to-hand combat.  The few men who did venture to seek her company were soon dissuaded by Natira’s brusque personality.  As far as she was concerned, there was no place for softness in a warrior’s life._

_Now Natira wished she had let her mother show her how to dress like a proper lady, to do her hair, and to apply kohl to her eyes.  Shrugging her shoulders in resignation, she recovered her robe and left the training area._

_“Where did she go?”  Musaid asked Ardeth after they had finished their demonstration._

_“Who?”_

_“The warrior I was fighting with earlier. She was magnificent, was she not?”_

_“I would not refuse a bit of hand-to-hand combat with that one,” agreed Ardeth.  “Perhaps we could share her.”  Ardeth and Musaid never lacked for female companionship and had had many adventures together in Cairo._

_Musaid looked with eyes of fire at his friend.  “She is not one of the city girls that we dally with.  That is the woman who is to be my wife,” he said._

_“Your wife?  Did you not just meet her today?”_

_Musaid sighed.  “Aiwa, but I knew the minute I saw her that she was the one Allah destined for me.”_

_“You are serious.”_

_Musaid nodded._

_Ardeth thought for a moment.  “I believe these new warriors would benefit greatly from a teacher such as yourself. I am scheduled to return to my studies in England shortly.  I want you to stay here until I return.”_

_“Is that an order?”_

_“Aiwa.”  Ardeth smiled.  “I think three months will allow you ample time to make a decision.”_

_“My decision is already made, my friend.  Now it only remains for me to get her to agree.”_

_That evening, Musaid presented himself at Natira’s tent.  “I would like to court your daughter,” he said to her parents.  Natira’s mother thought for a moment.  Between her husband and her children, six warriors lived in her tent.  With all the boots, robes, weapons, and other warrior equipment scattered around, it was hard for her to remember that she even had a daughter._

_“You want to court my daughter?” she asked.  “Are you sure you are in the right tent?”_

_“Your daughter is Natira, is she not?”_

_At that moment, Natira emerged from her sleeping area.  She had taken down her braid and her hair now hung down below her waist.  Instead of the black warrior robe she had been wearing earlier, she was wearing a simple soft green tunic and trousers.  Musaid had been taken by the warrior he had met earlier in the day.  Now that warrior had somehow transformed into what he thought was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Although Musaid had a reputation as having a silver tongue with women, he was struck speechless and found himself gaping open-mouthed at Natira._

_“Musaid, what brings you to our humble tent?” Natira asked in surprise._

_“He says he wants to court you,” Natira’s mother said._

_“If you are agreeable, my lady,” added, Musaid, finding his voice._

_No one had ever called Natira “my lady” before.  Her brothers affectionately called her “brat.”  She was tempted to look behind her to see who this lady was that Musaid was referring to until she saw the smile on his face, the smile that was meant only for her._

_“I would be willing to be courted by you,” replied Natira, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt._

_Musaid spent the next few weeks training the warriors during the day and visiting with Natira in the evening.  Since Natira was one of the warriors being trained, Musaid and spent both his days and evenings with her.  One evening, as Musaid was returning to the barracks where visiting Medjai stayed, he was accosted by Natira’s five brothers, each of whom was bigger than the last._

_“What are your intentions toward our sister?” demanded the largest of the men._

_“We know you are a great warrior, but if you dishonor her you will have to contend with all of us,” added another brother._

_“I assure you, my intentions are most honorable,” replied Musaid.  “I intend to take her as my wife.”_

_“You want to marry the brat?”  asked another one of the brothers._

_Musaid reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of paper.  “I want you to hear what I read to your sister tonight.  It is a passage from the Bible of the Hebrews:_

_A woman of valor, who can find? Her worth is far above jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and nothing shall he lack. She renders him good and not evil all the days of her life. She opens her hand to the needy, and extends her hand to the poor. She is robed in strength and dignity, and cheerfully faces whatever may come. She opens her mouth with wisdom. Her tongue is guided by kindness.”_

_Musaid looked at the men around him.  “She said yes,” he finished._

_Natira’s parents had despaired of their daughter ever marrying.  Female warriors seldom did.  The fact that Natira was being sought by the man who would eventually become the second-in-command to the future Chieftain of all the tribes of the Medjai was almost too much for her parents to digest.  But even more importantly, during the time Musaid had been in their village, they had come to know him and see the love he had for their daughter._

_By the time Ardeth returned to the village of the Seventh Tribe, Musaid and Natira were already married according to Medjai custom.  The one departure from tradition was that when Natira’s kinsmen came to retrieve her after her planned abduction, she stood in her Medjai robes her beside her husband and declared that as much as Musaid was claiming her by his right as a warrior, she was claiming him the same way._

_Natira and Musaid had a wedding celebration before they left for the First Tribe.  As Musaid’s mother and sister were unable to travel to the Seventh Tribe, the couple planned to have another party when they returned to Musaid’s village._

_“My mother will help you get settled in,” said Akia, Natira’s new sister-in-law.  She had recently married Natira’s brother Hakim and was now living in the village of the Seventh Tribe.  “I know she misses me and misses having someone to fuss over. I’m sure Ardeth’s mother will be happy to meet you, too.  She misses Ardeth when he’s away at school.”_

_“The sayyidah?  Why would she care about me?”  asked Natira.  “Is she scary like the sayyid?”  Natira had seen Humam a few times and thought he took the concept of the stereotypical menacing Medjai to a whole new level._

_Akia laughed.  “You know, when we were all kids, as far as we were concerned, the sayyid was just Ardeth’s father and my own abu’s best friend.  As I grew up, I discovered that everyone else was afraid of him.  As for Amira, I mean the sayyidah, she’s not scary at all. “_

_“Anyway,” Akia continued.  “At least you’ll have my ume to help you out.  I know Musaid’s mother is moving.”  Musaid’s mother and younger sister were moving back to the Second Tribe.  Musaid’s father had been killed in battle a few years earlier and his mother was waiting for Musaid to marry so she could return to her own family._

_“Help me out?”_

_“Natira, I’ve only been here a short time but I know you need help in the kitchen.  Did you and Musaid intend to take all your meals in the barracks with the single warriors?”_

_“I never thought of that.  Oh, Musaid is going to hate me.  I’ll never be as good a wife as all the other girls he could have had.”_

_“My sister, he did not marry you because you could cook,” Akia answered with a sly smile._

_“I can’t sew either, unless you count being able to repair a saddle.”_

_“Lucky for you my ume is the best seamstress in all the Twelve Tribes.  You’ve seen all the baby clothes she’s sent.”_

_“This is just too much.  I’m a warrior.  I’ll never be able to do all those things.  I’m supposed to be out with my brothers...”_

_“Yes, I know.  Galloping around in the desert, waving your scimitar and yelling “Yalla Imshi.”_

_“Aiwa.”_

_“And sleeping at night in an empty bed?”_

_Natira thought back to the previous night.  She and Musaid were staying in one of the temporary tents that could be set up for visitors, as her family’s tent was already overcrowded.  “There has not been much sleeping going on,” she grinned.  “You’re right, Akia.  I worked hard to get these.”  Natira spread out her hands, displaying her tattoos.  “How hard could it be to learn to cook and sew?”_

Sarra and Tali were already home when Natira and Zahara returned to their tent. 

“Zahara has a boyfriend!” they sang, holding hands as they danced in a circle around their aunt.

“Are there no secrets in this village?” Natira asked, trying to sound stern.

“No!” Sarra exclaimed.

“The sayyidah was here, and she told us,” added Tali.  “And she left this for Zahara.”  Tali picked up the robe that was folded neatly on a pile of cushions.  “She says she is going to come by and do her hair.”

When Musaid returned to his tent and found it filled with women, he turned on his heel and made straight for Ardeth’s tent.  “May I hide out here for a while, sayyid?” he asked.

“What are they doing over there?”  Ardeth had seen Jamila rushing back and forth and then leaving with an armful of what she referred to as “woman stuff”

“You have your Medjai stuff, and I have my woman stuff,” Jamila had told her husband once when he asked her why she had so many combs and other ornaments.  The comb Ardeth had given her when they were first courting was still her favorite, but Jamila could not resist pretty things, and Ardeth delighted in indulging her.

“Apparently we are having a guest for dinner,” replied Musaid.  “And Zahara needs to be transformed into a Calipha in order to attract him.”

“The first time I saw she who is my wife, she was dirty, ragged, and barefoot,” mused Ardeth.

“And the first time I saw Natira, she had a scimitar in her hand,” replied Musaid.

“Let them have their enjoyment,” said Ardeth. “They have both been through enough trouble lately.”

“I agree, sayyid.  We provide the trouble.  They provide the enjoyment.”  Both men laughed.

Back in Natira’s tent, Jamila was making five braids in Zahara’s hair.  The number five had special meaning to the Medjai due to their religious beliefs.  Jamila made two braids on either side of Zahara’s head, weaving some gold thread in them, and tied them together at the crown.  She took the rest of Zahara’s hair and made another larger braid.  Then she took the four smaller braids and tied them together with the larger one at the nape of Zahara’s neck.

“Swing your head around,” Natira ordered.  Zahara complied.  “Very good.  If Sahmir gets fresh with you, you can just whip him with your hair.”

“Oh I would never do that!” exclaimed Zahara.

“I’m not serious, sister,” replied Natira, smiling.

Sharing a meal around a campfire with fellow Medjai was much different than having dinner in their tent, especially when one of said Medjai was the Chieftain’s second in command.  Sahmir did his best not to let the grape leaves unroll when he ate the mahshi w`ara' inab that Zahara had made.  Thankfully he was spared having to make conversation with his mouth full of food, as Sarra and Tali talked enough for everyone.  Unlike some tribes, Medjai families ate together, men, women and children.  Sahmir was glad for the twins’ distraction as it gave him more time to look at Zahara.

Prior to his journey to Hamunaptra, Sahmir had never worked up the courage to speak to Zahara.  His friends from the barracks had teased him about his shyness with women, even persuading him to visit the brothels with them when they were all on leave in Cairo.  Sahmir had succumbed to their coaxing on a few occasions, until he decided that the mere act of coupling with a woman was not what he was looking for.  He had already noticed Zahara, but felt she was beyond his reach.  To Sahmir, she embodied all the qualities he dreamed about in a woman:  she was smart, pretty, and sweet, and gentle, and tender, and refined, and lovely.  To say he was surprised when she was figuratively dropped in his lap was an understatement. 

The meal was over all too soon and Sahmir made his way back to the barracks.  He intended to ask Musaid the next day for permission to court his sister, and was so absorbed in thinking about what to say that he did not realize it when he almost walked into someone.

Without conscious thought, the two men immediately had their hands on the hilts of their scimitars.  Ardeth caught himself first, and replaced his weapon in its scabbard.

“A Medjai warrior is supposed to be stealthy and alert,” he said mildly.  He knew the young warrior was returning from his dinner in Musaid’s tent.

“Oh, sayyid!  I am so sorry.  My mind was elsewhere.”

The Medjai village was generally a safe place to be.  It was ringed by sentries and most of the male villagers were armed at all times.  Ardeth, however, was not going to let Sahmir off too easily.

“It would not improve your love life if you were to be found hacked to bits by bandits some morning, would it?”

“La, sayyid.”

“I think you should take a turn at sentry duty for the next week and practice your vigilance.  Report to Issam in the morning and he will put you in the rotation.” 

“Aiwa, my lord.  _Shukran_ , my lord.”  Sahmir turned to try and make his escape.

“And one more thing,” Ardeth said.  “I have already told Musaid that I approve of you.  Do not prove me in error.”

***

“Reparations.”

Ardeth had been called to the tent of the Council of Elders and now stood looking nonplussed at the two chador clad women before him.  He was not sure which one had spoken, not even sure they were women.  Medjai women normally did not wear such clothing, certainly not when among others of their tribe.  Veils were sometimes worn, when among outsiders or for the sake of fashion, but this swaddling was an anathema to Ardeth.

“Please remove your veils,” Ardeth said as gently as he could.  “You are in the company of kinsmen.”

The two women reluctantly removed their cloaks.

“My name is Qisaf,” said the taller of the two women.  “This is my sister Juhanah.  We were both wives of Gaafar.”

Ardeth had never thought of Gaafar as having a wife, and he was taken aback by the idea that Gaafar had not one but two wives.  Qisaf was at least ten years older than Ardeth, with sharp features ending in a mouth that looked like it never smiled.  Juhanah, on the other hand, looked to be quite young, about the same age as Musaid’s sister Zahara.  She was soft where her sister was hard, and was quite obviously with child.

“We have come to seek compensation for the death of our husband,” Qisaf continued.  “Especially for my sister and her unborn child.  She has already lost one husband in an accident, and now has lost another.  As for me, I cannot afford to support my own children, never mind my sister and her child.”

Looking at the two women, Ardeth had an idea as to how Gaafar might have acquired his second wife.  He thought it would be interesting to learn the details of the supposed accident that had claimed Juhanah’s first husband. 

“We are aware of the fact that our husband was in possession of a saddlebag full of gold when he was murdered,” continued Qisaf.  “That money belongs to us.”

Ardeth knew these women were victims of Gaafar just as surely as the warriors he had killed, but he somehow could find little sympathy for the older woman.  He wondered if she knew what kind of man Gaafar had been, if she knew the things he did, and if she did know, why she had not divorced him.   But he also knew that as Chieftain, he could not let his own personal feelings color his decisions.

“First of all,” he began.  “Your husband was not murdered.  He was executed in accordance with our laws for crimes he committed.  Secondly, the money is to be distributed to the families of the warriors your husband killed. “

Qifar started to protest, but Ardeth held up his hand.

“I am, however, not unsympathetic to your situation,” Ardeth continued.  “When the money is divided, I will have one additional portion set aside for the two of you.”

“That’s not fair!” spluttered Qifar.  “That money should all go to us!”

Ardeth turned to the elders, who had been watching this exchange.  They enjoyed seeing how their Chieftain handled disputes.  Somehow he was always able to find a solution that, while it did not necessarily make everyone happy, did not overly favor one party above another.

“Does this seem like an equitable solution to you, honored elders?” Ardeth asked, addressing the Council.  They all nodded in agreement, with Humam smiling briefly at his son.

“Very well, daughters.  That is my decision as Chieftain and the decision of the Council of Elders.  I would recommend you accept this settlement and leave here as soon as possible, before the families of the murdered warriors seek reparations from you.”

At that, Qifar began to protest, and Juhanah began to cry.  A hard look from her older sister silenced her, but the tears still rolled down her cheeks.  Ardeth’s first instinct was to comfort the young girl but that would not be acceptable behavior on his part.  Instead, he addressed one of the nearby warriors who had escorted the women through the village.  “Please go tell the sayyidah that I require her presence,” Ardeth said.

“Right away, my lord,” said the man as he bowed and left the tent.

A few minutes later, Jamila arrived.  She immediately realized something serious was going on, and put on her “sayyidah face”, as Ardeth called the unsmiling expression both Jamila and Amira could call forth when needed.

“My wife, I would that you speak to this woman before she leaves our village,” stated Ardeth.

_“Something very serious,”_   thought Jamila.  _“That’s the tone of voice he uses right before he says “Let the desert take them.”_

“Aiwa, my lord,” replied Jamila, bowing.

“Please come with me,” Jamila said to Juhanah, taking her by the arm and leading her out of the tent.  Juhanah gave one last terrified look at her sister before she was led away. 

Once outside, Jamila looked around, trying to decide where would be a good place to talk with the girl.  “I believe the kitchen tent is currently unoccupied,” she said, guiding Juhanah into the empty tent.  Once inside, Jamila indicated that they should both sit at one of the low tables that were set up in rows.

After they were seated, Jamila reached over and took Juhanah’s hand.  She jerked away as if she were being burned. 

“Do not be afraid,” Jamila said quietly.  “My lord thinks there is more to this than has been said.  Can you tell me what is going on?”

Jamila had no idea what “this” was but she was good at bluffing.

Juhanah gave one last sniffle and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

“My sister is much older than I am,” she began.  “When she married our husband I was just a child.  My parents were very poor, so they arranged a marriage for me when I was fourteen, but he was soon killed.” 

Juhanah leaned forward.  “I think Gaafar had him killed, if he did not do it himself,” she whispered.

“Why do you think that?” asked Jamila, more to keep the conversation going than anything else.  She was still digesting the idea that parents would essentially sell their fourteen year old daughter. 

“Gaafar had always been very, attentive of me.  He would say things to me, things that I thought were inappropriate.  When I told my sister, she said I was too sensitive, that her husband was just trying to be a loving brother to me.  Then after I was married, Gaafar came to our tent one day and asked my husband to accompany him out to the desert to retrieve some camels that had gotten loose.  Gaafar came back with my husband’s body tied over the back of one of the camels.  He said my husband had fallen off his horse and struck his head on a rock.  Sayyidah, there are no such rocks in that part of the desert.  After what seemed like a very short time, Gaafar approached my parents and proposed to marry me.  He even offered a second bride price.  Of course, they agreed.  Now I am just sixteen, a widow twice, with a child on the way.”

“Did your sister know about any of this?” asked Jamila.

“Qifar and I were never close.  She’s so much older than I am.  But I think she knew that Gaafar had other women.”

_“And men,”_ thought Jamila, but she did not say it out loud.

“I think she thought that by giving me to him it would keep him in the tent.”

“What about your first husband’s death?  Did Qifar know anything about that?”

“I don’t know, my lady.  Maybe.  She is not nice person.”  Juhanah began to cry again.  “I don’t want to go back with her.”

Jamila thought for a moment.  “Can you cook?” she asked.

“Oh yes, sayyidah.  I can cook, and clean, and sew.  That’s what I did when I was married to Gaafar. I cooked, and cleaned, and sewed, and took care of Qifar’s children, and….” she motioned to her stomach.

“Wait here,” Jamila said.  She got up and left the kitchen tent.  Once outside, she motioned to a passing warrior. 

“Keep her here until I get back,” she said.

“Aiwa, my lady.”  The warrior did not ask any questions.  The sayyidah’s words were to be obeyed almost to the same extent as the Chieftain’s.

Qifar was still arguing with Ardeth and the Elders when Jamila returned to the Elders’ tent.  Ardeth now had his arms crossed in front of his chest and a stony expression on his face.  Jamila knew that no matter how much Qifar begged, wheedled, or demanded, Ardeth was not going to capitulate.

Jamila walked softly up to her husband.  “My lord, I would speak to you in private.” 

Ardeth looked down at his wife.  He found it difficult to keep a stern expression on his face when he looked at her but somehow managed.  “As you wish,” he said imperiously, and swept out of the tent, Jamila following at his heels.

Once they were outside, out of view and earshot of Qifar, Ardeth’s demeanor changed.  “What did you find out, _kalila_?” he asked, taking Jamila’s hands in his.

Jamila told him what she had learned, ending with “And we can’t make her go back with Qifar!”

“My love, you cannot take in every stray that passes through the village.”

“You took me in.”

“That was different.”  Ardeth smirked.  “Wait! Do you propose I take Juhanah as a second wife?”

“La!”  Jamila went to playfully punch Ardeth in the shoulder but he easily caught her hand and brought it up to his lips.

“I know you have a plan.  You always have a plan.”

“Aiwa, my husband.  We could send her to Cairo.  Abdul is always complaining he needs more help at the café, especially now with all the tourists.  I’m sure Abdul’s wife Giuliana would appreciate it, and Abdul’s sons could spend more time on other things, you know, Medjai things.”

Ardeth thought for a moment.  “That is a very good plan, my wife.  Do you think Juhanah will agree?”

“I have not discussed it with her, my husband.  I wanted to check with you first.”

“Well, there is a first time for everything.”  This time, Jamila’s punch connected.

“You dare attack the person of your Chieftain?” Ardeth said in pretend outrage.  Jamila giggled.

“Come, my wife, let us go speak with this stray you wish to save.”

“ _Shukran_ , my husband.”

As they walked towards the kitchen tent, Ardeth stopped.  “There is one thing that bothers me.  How did these women get here by themselves?”  It was unheard of for two women to travel alone through the desert.

“I do not know,” replied Jamila.  “We should ask Juhanah.”

Juhanah told Ardeth and Jamila that a man had accompanied them.  “An Englisher,” Juhanah said.  “He said he was a friend of our husband.  He came to our village and talked for a long time with Qifar.  Then she came and told me we were all coming here to get our husband’s money.”

“Where is he now?” asked Ardeth.

“He is waiting for us outside the village,” replied Juhanah.

“I would wager he is one of the Germans.  That explains how Qifar knew about the gold,” Ardeth said to Jamila.  “I will get Musaid and we will deal with this man once and for all.  I want you to stay here.”

Jamila knew how Medjai “dealt with” people and she was only too glad to remain in the kitchen tent with Juhanah.

Ardeth made his way to the stables where he knew Musaid would be.  “Musaid,” he called.  “Would you care to accompany me on a hunt?”

“What are we hunting, my lord?” asked Musaid.

“A German.”

“One of the Germans we let go?”

Ardeth nodded and explained the situation with Gaafar’s wives.

“We are not going to be as merciful this time, are we, sayyid?” asked Musaid.

“I think not.”  Ardeth walked over to a small fenced in area and gave a shrill whistle.  Within a few moments Askari had galloped over to the fence, followed by a small group of mares.

“You will have to leave your harem for a while, my friend,” said Ardeth, scratching the stallion’s nose.  He opened the gate and led the horse over to the stalls, where Musaid was finishing saddling his own mount.

 “My wife wants another foal by him with her mare,” continued Ardeth.  “I believe Askari thinks his purpose in life is to replenish my stable.”  Ardeth had paid an unheard of bride price of fifty horses when he had married Jamila.

“Askari has a good life,” commented Musaid.  “Spending time with his women, riding off to battle.  No Medjai warrior could ask for more.”

There was a small wadi not far from the village.  A man could hide there and remain unnoticed by the sentries.  As Ardeth and Musaid approached, the German heard them and jumped on his horse, intending to escape into the desert.  The Medjais’ horses were faster and they caught up with him right away.

Ardeth removed his veil as he reached over and grabbed the reins of the German’s horse.  “Do you remember me?” Ardeth asked.

As far as the German was concerned, all Arabs looked alike.  It took him a moment to realize which particular Arab had hold of his horse.  He tried to pull away, but without success.

“I believe our friend is not happy to see us again,” said Musaid from his place on the other side of the German’s horse.

The German turned to look at Musaid and a look of panic suffused his features.

“I was only following orders!” the German protested.  “I did not wish to harm you!”

A look passed between Ardeth and Musaid.  They both recalled that this particular German had been most energetic when it came to administering beatings.

“What about the money?” demanded Ardeth.

“I need it to get back home.  Please, let me go, and I swear you will never see me again.”

“Should we let him go, sayyid?” smirked Musaid.

Ardeth pretended he was thinking.  “La, not this time,” he finally said, smiling a wolfish, feral smile.  In one fluid movement, Ardeth’s scimitar was out of its sheath and in his hand. 

That was the last thing the German saw.

Ardeth and Musaid returned to the village leading the dead German’s horse.  They stopped at the tent where Qifar was being held.  Ardeth went inside and brought the woman out.  When she saw the horse, she began to tremble.

“Do you recognize this animal?” growled Ardeth.

“No, sayyid,” Qifar said in a whisper.

“I think you do.  Your friend has no need of it anymore.  You may take it and leave.”

“What about my money? And my own horse? And my sister?”

Ardeth did not fail to notice that Qifar had listed the money first and her sister last.  “You may take your own horse, but that is it.”  He motioned to the warrior who had been standing guard.  The man understood and went off to get Qifar’s horse.

“Where will I go?  What will I do?” Qifar began to wail, throwing herself on the ground at Ardeth’s feet.

“You have made your choices.  You must now live with them.  You do not deserve to be called Medjai.  Now go, before I change my mind about allowing you to leave at all.”  Ardeth stepped over the woman and strode off without a backward glance.

Jamila had watched this exchange from the kitchen tent.  She turned to Juhanah.  “See, everything will be alright.  You’ll like Cairo.  Abdul is Medjai.  He and his wife will take good care of you.”

Later in the day, Jamila went to retrieve Kazeem from his grandparents’ tent.

“Where are the boys?” Jamila asked, noticing that Amira was all alone.

“The big boy took the little boys over to the training ring.  They were cooped up in the tent when our visitors were here and needed to work off some steam.”

Jamila knew that Amira meant Gaafar’s wives.  

“I’m glad it’s just the two of us,” said Jamila.  “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“No, it’s just something Gaafar’s younger wife asked me earlier.”  Jamila paused.  “She wanted to know if I was afraid of Ardeth. “

“Afraid?”  asked Amira. 

“She saw the way Ardeth dealt with the German, and then with her own sister.  He was very intimidating.  I guess she thought he was that way all the time, that way with me. “

“And are you afraid?” Amira asked, concern coloring her voice.

“Of course not.  Although I must admit, he is formidable, even for a Medjai.”

“Bay men are indeed formidable,” agreed Amira.  _“In many ways,”_ she thought, smiling to herself.

“But you know,” Amira continued.  “Being Chieftain is what our men do.  It’s a big part of who they are, the biggest part, but it’s not the only part.  That’s why it’s so important for the Chieftain to be married, and to be married to the right woman.  So she can temper him, allow him to be more than the merciless warrior others see.  Praise Allah, my son found such a wife in you.”

Amira reached over and gave her daughter-in-law a hug.

Just then the tent flap opened, and Yusef and Kazeem ran in, following by Humam.

“Here are our formidable Medjai now!” said Jamila, stooping down to pick up her son.   “Did you have fun with your grandfather?”

“We did not have fun, my sister,” said Yusef.  The older of two boys, he already had much of his brother Ardeth’s serious demeanor.  “We were training.”

Jamila was always amused at the way Yusef addressed her.  More than once, she was tempted to remind him how she had taken care of him when he was an infant. 

“Well I had fun,” interrupted Humam.  “But I am just the weapons bearer.”  He put the boys’ wooden swords down by the door.  “I would not let them run through the village waving these around.”

“Would Yusef like to have supper with us?  He can keep Kazeem company while I cook.” asked Jamila.  One of the luxuries Ardeth had given Jamila was a stove for their tent, so she did not have to use the cooking tent unless she wanted to. 

“Aiwa, ume, please may I go?” interjected Yusef.

“Alright, but you behave and do whatever Jamila says,” replied Amira. 

“I think I will pick up Benyamin along the way,” Jamila said.  “I might as well have them all.  Besides, I understand Sahmir is having supper there tonight.”

“I have been reading a book that the boys might like to hear,” said Humam.  He was a voracious reader and had passed along his love for books to his sons.  “It’s called _The Three Musketeers_.  It is about three great friends.”

“What is a Musketeer?” asked Jamila.

“They were the guards to the king of France.”

“Did they have scimitars, abu?” asked Yusef.

“They had swords.  They had many adventures, and also romances.”

Yusef wrinkled his nose at the word romance. 

“So they were like Medjai?” asked Jamila.

“I have not finished the book yet, but in many ways they were.” 

“I’m sure the children will enjoy having you read it to them,” replied Jamila.

“What are you cooking for supper, Jamila?” Yusef asked as they walked across the village.

“A spice seller was just here, and I replenished my supplies.” Jamila replied, referring to the man who traveled between villages selling cooking spices and incense.  “I thought I would make koshari, since it is Ardeth’s favorite, and I know you boys like it, too.

“Can you make it without the onions?”  Yusef did not like onions.

“I’ll fry them separately and let everyone serve themselves.”

When Ardeth returned home, the three boys were playing on the floor with the set of tin soldiers Rick O’Connell had sent Kazeem.  Some of soldiers were standing and some were on horseback.  Ardeth stopped to see what the boys were doing.

“Who are you fighting?  Libyans?  Nubians?”  The list of tribes the Medjai fought against was long.

“I am the Germans, brother,” said Yusef.  “Kazeem and Benyamin are the Medjai.”

“Kazeem, your flank is exposed,” Ardeth said, pointing to a group of soldiers.  “Keep your line strong.”

Kazeem and Benyamin moved some of the figurines.

“That is much better.  I think you will give Yusef a run for his money.”

Ardeth turned to where Jamila was cooking.  “What is that delicious smell?” he asked.

“I am frying garlic and onions, as if you could not tell,” replied Jamila. 

Ardeth walked up behind his wife and put his arms around her waist.  “No, I think it is your fragrance that is so delectable,” he said, inhaling the scent of her hair.

Jamila turned around and embraced her husband.  “Someday that will all be real, won’t it?” she said.

Ardeth knew she was referring to the game the three boys were playing.

“Perhaps by the time Kazeem succeeds me, there will be no more battles to fight,” Ardeth replied.

“Do you believe that?”

Ardeth wanted to tell his wife that their son would never encounter any dangers, but he would not lie to her.  “I believe that whatever is the will of Allah, that will come to pass,” he said.

 ***

Jamila had just left the healer’s tent when Natira walked up to her.

“Is everything alright?” asked Natira.

“Aiwa, everything is fine, although I think I will have to start wearing a chador if I don’t want everyone in the village knowing my every move.”

“Then people would say “Oh there goes the sayyidah wearing a chador”, replied Natira.  “Seriously, are you ill?”

“La, actually I was talking to Saleemah about trying for another baby.”  Even though there were very few secrets in the Medjai village, only a few people, including Natira, knew that Jamila had gotten pregnant a year after Kazeem was born and had a miscarriage.  “Saleemah seems to think that now that I am older, stronger, and have gained some weight, I should try again.  I don’t want to wait 25 years like Amira did.”

“Then you can get rid of the beads.”  When Saleemah had attended medical school in Cairo, one of the things she had learned was how to determine which days a woman was most likely to conceive.  Unlike other desert tribes, the infant mortality rate among Medjai was very low and women did not feel obligated to produce a baby every year.  Women would keep a string of beads, similar to a masbaha, but with only 32 beads. These beads were different colors, with the blue beads signifying the days a woman was presumably most fertile.  Every day a band would be moved to the next bead, and when the band was on a blue bead, the woman would refrain from intercourse.  On the first day of her cycle, she would return the band to the first bead and start over again.

“Using the beads is better than what we do to camels,” replied Jamila.  Small stones were commonly inserted into a camel’s uterus to prevent pregnancy during long journeys.  “Saleemah told me I could use the beads to figure out the best time to try to get pregnant.”

“So you mean if the bead is blue……”

“That’s right, if the bead is blue I send Kazeem to spend the night somewhere else.”

“I don’t think the Chieftain would object to that.”

“You know, he’s been so patient with this.  I know he would rather be able to bed me whenever he wanted to.”

“If he’s anything like Musaid, that would be every night.”

“Every night, and every morning,” Jamila said.  Both women laughed.

“So what color is today’s bead?” asked Natira.

“Blue,” Jamila answered with a smile.

“What a coincidence!  I was going to ask you if Kazeem would like to spend the night with us.”

“ _Shukran,_ my friend.”

“If it’s a girl, you’ll have to name her after me.”

“My lord has told me that Bay babies are usually boys.  I think another name from the line of Bay would be appropriate.  As long as it’s not Dedu.” When Evy O’Connell had been translating some of the oldest records and came across that name, she insisted on teaching Jamila an American minstrel song that Rick was fond of.  Some of the words of the chorus were Doo-Dah and forever after Jamila could not read the name Dedu without thinking of that song.

Jamila was not the only one who kept scrupulous track of the beads that hung by the bed.  Although Ardeth wanted to add to his family, he would never do anything that might harm his wife.  After Jamila’s miscarriage, they had both decided to wait a while before trying for another baby.  Since that day’s bead had been blue, Ardeth assumed that although they could pleasure each other in other ways, there would be no actual coupling taking place.

So it was with puzzlement that Ardeth looked around the tent that evening. The first thing he noticed was that the oil lamps had been dimmed. The second thing he noticed was the scent of kyphi burning.

The third thing he noticed was his wife.

Jamila was wearing a robe that was almost completely transparent, showing that she had nothing on underneath. Her hair was pinned up on her head by the comb Ardeth had given her before they were married, and she had kohl around her eyes.

Even though they were in the privacy of their own tent, Jamila walked up to Ardeth and, standing on tiptoes, whispered in his ear, “I talked with Saleemah today and she said it was alright for us to try to have another baby.” Then she backed away and made a low bow.

“My lord,” she said, eyes twinkling. “I am one of the captives that was taken in the raid today and I have been given to you to become part of your harem.”

The Medjai never kept captives, especially not female ones, and never had harems.

Ardeth smiled briefly to himself, then looked at Jamila with an impassive expression. This game always succeeded in firing up his blood, and the thought of creating a baby only served to increase his ardor. The fact that Jamila felt comfortable playing sheik and harem girl after the trauma of her early life was a testament to the trust and love between husband and wife.

“Why should I accept you as a concubine?” Ardeth growled. “You look more fit to entertain my warriors.”

“La, my lord. I am but a maiden, taken by force from my family’s tent. I have never been with a man. “

“We shall see about that,” Ardeth said with a leer, as he removed his weapons and bandoleers.

“If you are to be in my harem, you must learn how to serve me properly,” he continued. “I am fatigued. Untie my robe.”

Jamila walked over to Ardeth as if she were approaching an adder. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to untie the knot on the gray sash holding the robe closed. As the sayyidah, she was intimately familiar with the special knot used, the one that created a safe pocket for a small knife. As a captive maiden, she had never touched a man in this way.

Eventually, she managed to remove the sash and carefully laid it down next to the bandoleers. With Ardeth’s robe open, Jamila could see that the tunic he wore underneath was open almost to the waist, affording her a view of her husband’s muscular chest. She began to reach out to caress his torso, to trail her fingers along the familiar tattoos that did not mar the smooth skin but instead enhanced it. Then she remembered who she was supposed to be and flinched as if she had gotten too close to a flame.

Ardeth grasped her wrist as Jamila tried to pull her hand away. “Please lord,” she begged.

“My patience is not limitless,” Ardeth declared, releasing Jamila’s hand. He sighed as he removed his robe, then reached out and grabbed Jamila’s hand again, placing it on his crotch. He was already aroused and Jamila could feel his erection twitching as her hand came into contact with it through his pants.

“Please, my lord,” she repeated.

Ardeth smirked. “Before this night is over I will certainly teach you how to please me,” he said huskily, sitting down on a chair. 

“Remove my boots,” he ordered, stretching out his legs.

As Jamila knelt down and pulled off Ardeth’s boots, she heard the rustle of fabric.  When she looked up, she saw that Ardeth had opened his pants.  Leaning down, Ardeth drew Jamila towards him so his manhood was almost touching her face. 

“You know what to do,” Ardeth said brusquely.

From the first time Jamila had been with Ardeth, she had been fascinated by the way her husband’s body responded to her touches, whether by hand or by mouth.  There was no part of Ardeth’s body that did not still intrigue her, from his long dark hair to his muscular legs, and those parts between his legs were no exception.

Jamila paused for a moment, debating whether or not to continue in her role as a reluctant captive.  She looked up, her eyes meeting Ardeth’s, and realized he was having the same thought.  “My lord,” she said, making a decision.  “I have never touched a man before.

“I will give you a choice,” Ardeth said roughly.  “You can do as I command here, or I will let my men take their pleasure with you.  And they will not be as indulgent as I am.”

Jamila tentatively licked the tip of Ardeth’s penis with her tongue.  Then, with an impish expression, she took as much of him as she could into her mouth, circling the remainder with her hand.

Ardeth sighed contentedly when he felt Jamila’s mouth around his manhood.  He reached over and removed Jamila’s comb, enjoying the way her dark hair flowed down her back.  Ardeth gently caressed the top of Jamila’s head, resisting the temptation to hold her head still and thrust into her mouth.  He knew there were warriors whose wives would not do what Jamila so obviously enjoyed doing, and was humbled by what he considered to be her gift to him.

However, as his erection grew, so did Ardeth’s need to thrust hard into something.  When Jamila started to fondle his testicles, he regretfully disengaged Jamila’s mouth from his throbbing shaft.  “ _Kalila_ ,” he rasped.  “That is not the way to make a baby.”

“Perhaps my lord will be so kind as to instruct me?”

Jamila stood and led her husband to their bed.  She lay down on her back, watching as Ardeth finished removing his clothes. “This is an old robe, my husband,” Jamila murmured.

Ardeth’s eyes flashed and his erection jerked as he looked down at his wife.  He could see that her nipples were hard under the transparent material, and he knew that the dark vee between her legs would be wet to his touch.  Straddling her, he put both hands on the collar of Jamila’s robe and ripped it open.

Jamila gasped at the sound of the tearing fabric.  There was a difference between the anticipation and the actuality.  For a moment, Jamila felt totally exposed.  Then Ardeth’s body was covering hers.  He was much bigger than Jamila:  longer, wider, stronger, and even in the heat of passion was always careful to support himself so as not to crush her.  Jamila loved the feeling of her husband’s body on top of her.  It made her feel safe and protected.  She reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. 

Ardeth rolled them over so they were on their sides facing each other.  His erection was an adamant presence between them, but Ardeth wanted to take the time to make sure Jamila felt as much pleasure as he always did.  Jamila tended to be compliant in their lovemaking, which made Ardeth even more determined that his wife should find enjoyment in their coupling.  He dropped his head and took her right nipple in his mouth, one hand on Jamila’s other breast and the other hand snaking down between her legs. 

Ardeth had by no means been an inexperienced lover when he married Jamila.  He had lost his virginity at the age of fourteen in one of the pleasure houses of Cairo, and had never been at a loss for female companionship after that.  While he was at Oxford, he was sought out by many of the woman students who thought he was “exotic”.  Even back in Egypt, there were many women, both Egyptian and European, who were attracted by the tall, handsome, mysterious Medjai.  So Ardeth was accustomed to the sounds women made in bed.  He had always assumed that the moans of the prostitutes had been an act put on for his benefit, and that even the other women may have vocally exaggerated their arousal.  He had no such doubts about the sounds his wife made.  Her soft sighs and the way she breathed his name were more erotic to him than the supposed cries of passion of any of his previous partners.

Ardeth moved his mouth over to Jamila’s left breast.  The feel of her heartbeat engendered a tenderness in Ardeth that somehow did not seem at odds with his body’s insistence to love her in the most carnal way. 

A knock at the door of the tent, accompanied by a voice calling him, interrupted Ardeth’s ministrations.  Ardeth got up muttering under his breath. He slipped on his trousers and went to the door.  One of the sentries stood there.

“Chieftain!” the man said urgently. “We have captured a spy that was trying to get into the village!”  At that moment he noticed that the front of Ardeth’s pants was tented out due to his huge erection.

“Can’t a man fuck his wife in peace?” Ardeth demanded, following the man’s gaze, clearly angry.

The other warrior was stunned.  His Chieftain always spoke precisely and almost never used vulgar words.  He was tempted to peek into the tent to see what was going on but immediately realized doing that would have deadly consequences.

“La, sayyid. I mean, aiwa, sayyid,” the man stammered.

Ardeth took a deep breath to calm himself, ignoring the sensation of the blood rushing through his veins.  “Put him in the tent set aside for prisoners,” he said through gritted teeth.  “I will be there presently.”  Ardeth closed the door flap, leaving the sentry standing outside.

“What’s going on?” Jamila had pulled a blanket over herself and only her head was visible.

“Nothing to be concerned about.  Just “Medjai stuff,” Ardeth replied, using his wife’s term, as he removed his pants and climbed into the bed beside her.  “Now where were we?”

Some time later, Ardeth made his way to the tent where the spy was being held.  He was fully dressed again, down to his scimitars and bandoleers.  When he came across the sentry who had disturbed him earlier, he took the man aside.  “I spoke to you harshly before, and for that I apologize,” he said.

“There is no apology necessary, my lord.  I too have a wife.”

The prisoner was tied to a chair which in turn was tied to one of the tent posts.  He looked like the type of man one would find in the seedier parts of Cairo.  He was no desert dweller, and that had been his undoing when he attempted to sneak into the Medjai village.  Unlike the Medjai, and to a lesser extent other Bedouin tribes, his movements had been neither stealthy nor silent.

“Does he have anything to say for himself?” Ardeth asked. 

“He says he was sent here by some men he owed money to,” replied one of the guards.  “It took some persuasion to get him to tell us even that.”  The persuasion was evidenced by man’s black eye and swollen lip.

Ardeth walked over to the seated man.  “Why have you come to our village?” he demanded. 

The man looked up and guessed that he was being addressed by the leader of the men who had captured him.  “I owed money, lots of money, for gambling debts.  They took my wife and children and said if I did not do what they said they would sell them to get back some of their money.”

Musaid had just entered the tent.  He walked over to the prisoner and casually backhanded him in the face.  “When you speak to our Chieftain, address him as sayyid,” he said.  Then he turned to Ardeth.  “I too was interrupted by this worthless creature,” he explained.

“Do you not have a tent full of children?” Ardeth murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.

“They were busy making a fort out of pillows.  My lady and I were…..”

“Say no more.”

Ardeth turned his attention to the spy.  “Who are these men who sent you?  What did they want you to do?”

“I cannot tell you, sayyid.  They will kill me!”

“You are going to die anyway.  Whether it is quickly or slowly is up to you.”

The man looked around, as if gauging his chances of escape.  “If I tell you,” he said.  “Will you try to rescue my family?”  He looked at Musaid.  “Sayyid,” he added quickly, flinching when he saw Musaid’s hand come up.

“Very well,” agreed Ardeth, already tired of this conversation.

“They are Europeans, sayyid.”  This time the “sayyid” came almost automatically.  “Germans.  They have taken over one of the clubs in Cairo.”

“What is the name of this place?” asked Ardeth.

“The Golden Pyramid, sayyid.  It is adjacent to a brothel, The Pharaoh’s Jewel,”

Ardeth and Musaid exchanged a meaningful glance.  Although Medjai neither drank alcohol nor gambled, they were cognizant of the bars and gambling dens of Cairo.  The brothel itself, however, was a place with which they were intimately familiar, or had been when they were single.

“Continue,” said Ardeth.  “Why did they send you here?”

“I was supposed to steal something.  They gave me a drawing of it.”  The man went to reach into his robe only to be surrounded by the guards, their scimitars drawn.

“Let him show us,” commanded Ardeth, waving the guards away.

The man drew a filthy piece of paper out and unfolded it.  On the paper was a drawing of something that was all too familiar to Ardeth.

“You have forfeited your life for nothing,” Ardeth said to the man.  “I will, however, honor my word.  We will try to rescue your family.”  He turned to the guards.  “Take him outside,” he ordered.  “Give him a quick death.”

Ardeth looked again at the drawing inscribed on the paper.  His hand unconsciously went to the amulet at his throat.

Musaid turned to leave with the rest of the men but Ardeth put his hand on his friend’s arm to stop him.  “Stay here for a moment, my friend,” said Ardeth.

“You know what that object is, my lord,” said Musaid after everyone else had left.

 

Ardeth wordlessly held the paper out to his friend.  Medjai warriors routinely wore some sort of amulet around their neck, an amalgam of ancient Egyptian, Muslim, and uniquely Medjai symbols that would be different for each man.  The amulets were said to confer protection and power upon the wearer.

Musaid looked down at the drawing and then up at Ardeth’s neck.  “It was a fool’s errand,” he finally said.  “The only way he could get your amulet would be…”

“If I were dead,” Ardeth finished.  “The Germans intended this as a message for me.  The man they sent was never meant to succeed, he was merely cannon fodder, a way to get me to Cairo. “

“What do you plan to do, my lord?”

“They told him they wanted my amulet, they will get it.  I am going to end this,” Ardeth replied.  Privately, he did not believe the end was in sight.  He was beginning to think the Germans were like locusts, wave after wave of them poised to rain down on Egypt.  But these particular Germans, these he could take care of, and the next wave, and the one after that.  The Medjai had been battling evil for thousands of years.  The Germans were just the old evil dressed in new clothes.

“How long has it been since you visited a brothel?” Ardeth asked, a smirk on his face.  He knew quite well that Musaid’s trips to Cairo no longer included such diversions.

“The Pharaoh’s Jewel?”

“Aiwa, it is convenient for us that the Germans have decided to set up shop there.”  The Medjai provided what could loosely be called security for some of the pleasure houses in Cairo in exchange for the ability to spy on the customers.  Men visiting a brothel seldom took any notice of those they considered mere servants, and would talk freely to the beautiful young women who worked there, especially after a few drinks.

Ardeth noticed the look of concern on Musaid’s face.  “I would also rather we did not have to engage these Germans again,” he offered in agreement.

“La, my lord.  It is not the Germans who worry me.  It is our wives, when we tell them where we are going.”

Ardeth laughed.  “I understand Natira is quite handy with a knife,” he joked.

Musaid cringed reflexively, but then smiled back at his Chieftain.  “I would wager she has taught your lady a few tricks,” he replied.

As Musaid guessed, neither Natira nor Jamila were happy with their husbands’ plans.

“Be careful, my husband,” warned Natira when Musaid explained about the impending trip to Cairo.

“I will try not to get captured or killed,” replied Musaid.

“That is not what I am referring to.  I will be able to tell, you know, if you have swum in strange waters.”

“Natira, I promise, I will return to you totally…..unswum.”  Musaid would not admit it to his wife, but he was flattered by her possessiveness.

Jamila was more curious than anything else.  “Why is the place called the Pharaoh’s Jewel?”

“That would be a nice way to refer to the [keshtan-ur](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/main.php?cmd=details&id=3922) of the Pharaoh’s concubine,” replied Ardeth, using a word that was more ancient than the language spoken in Seti’s time.  He knew all the common words, he had used them all, but he preferred not to use them with his wife in this context.

Jamila blushed, and Ardeth was once again taken with the fact that his wife could be so uninhibited in their bedchamber but so modest everywhere else.

Jamila thought for a moment.  “Do these women like to sell their bodies?” she asked.

“They have a place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear.  They are able to support their families, and most of them are treated quite well by their employers.”

“They have families?”  Jamila had never considered this.

“They do not have the luxury of being able to choose when they will be with a man.  Many of them have children.”

Tears sprang to Jamila’s eyes.  “That could have been me.  That would have been me.”

Ardeth took his wife in his arms.  “Never,” he murmured.  “You were meant to be mine.  It was the will of Allah that brought you to my tent that day.”

“You will not be tempted by those women, will you?”  Jamila was not really jealous, she just wanted reassurance.

Ardeth kissed the top of Jamila’s head.  “There is only one jewel I desire,” he murmured.

A few days later, as Ardeth and Musaid prepared to leave, Natira stood fidgeting next to Jamila.

“You are not going with them?” Jamila asked her friend.

“Musaid thinks I would attack any woman he even spoke with,” replied Natira.  “And he’s probably right.  But this waving goodbye thing, it gets old awfully fast.  I’d rather be doing something.”

“You can hold my hair back while I vomit.”

“Already?”

“I started throwing up the next morning.  My lord’s seed is very strong.”

“Does he know?”

“He knows that I am sick in the morning.  As for the rest, it is too early to tell for sure.  But he promises to bring me back some sweets from Abdul’s.  That was one of the few things I could keep down when I was carrying Kazeem.”

***

“You may turn him out after he is fed, watered and brushed,” Ardeth said as he handed Askari’s reins to one of the novices.  The stallion was already aware of the other horses in the corral behind the garrison’s stables, and his whinnies had attracted a group of mares over to the fence.

“At least one of us will enjoy the ladies of Cairo,” smirked Musaid.

“Askari never misses the opportunity to plant his seed.  I believe Shehzadi is in foal by him again.”

Something in Ardeth’s voice caused Musaid to look at him more closely.  “I would wager that Shehzadi is not the only member of the house of Bay currently in foal.”

Ardeth smiled broadly.  “That is not a wager I would take, my friend.”

“Congratulations, my lord!”

“It is still too early to be certain, but my lady wife assures me she is with child again.”  A flicker of sadness crossed Ardeth’s face as he remembered Jamila’s last pregnancy.

“Allah is kind,” replied Musaid.  Ardeth never directly referred to his wife’s miscarriage, but Musaid knew how deeply his Chieftain had been affected by it.  Among the Medjai, every child was cherished and wanted, in part because Medjai women were able to control to some extent when they became pregnant.

“I would prefer to resolve this issue with the Germans before bringing another child into this world, but I do not believe they will be so easily turned back,” said Ardeth.

“I agree, my lord.  But we will deal with these Germans now, and any others that come here in their own time.  My blade is thirsty.” 

“We will see if we can wet it for you, my friend,” replied Ardeth with a chilling smile.

There was a collection of non-Medjai clothing at the garrison, to be used when the Medjai needed to disguise their identities.  Ardeth and Musaid changed out of their normal black garments into white keffiyehs and robes.

“What about our weapons, sayyid?” asked Musaid, 

“We take them with us.  These Germans will not see a non-Medjai carrying Medjai blades.  They will see two Arabs, and we all look alike to them.  There is one last bit of our disguise, and we need to visit the Pharaoh’s Jewel for that.”

The two Medjai were greeted effusively by Reyah, the brothel’s madam.

“Chieftain!  And is that Musaid?  It has been too long since you have graced this humble dwelling.  But why are you dressed like that?”

“Reyah, we need your assistance,” Ardeth replied.  Some of the girls had gathered around to see what was going on.  Happily, neither Ardeth nor Musaid recognized any of them. 

“Anything for our Medjai protectors!” replied Reyah.  Ardeth knew that the large menacing looking man at the door was one of his own warriors.

“We are trying to, blend in,” explained Ardeth, indicating the clothes he and Musaid were wearing.  “However, the marks on our faces still indicate our identity as Medjai.  I was wondering if…”

Reyah interrupted him, clapping her hands.  “Oh I have just the thing, my lord!”  She motioned to one of the girls who was standing nearby.  “Go get my makeup kit.”

The men were shown to an alcove which was obscured from view by a heavy velvet drape.  Within a few minutes, Reyah had applied flesh colored makeup to their foreheads and cheeks, hiding the tattoos from sight.  “Just try not to get your faces wet,” she admonished.

“No kissing,” said one of the girls, giggling behind her hand.

“Now is there anything else we can do for you, Chieftain?” asked Reyah.

“Aiwa,” replied Ardeth.  “We may come in with some Germans.  If we order drinks, please bring us tea instead of alcohol, and bring the Germans your “special” wine.”

“My girls will know what to do,” said Reyah.  “We do not like the Germans.  They are loud, they eat with their left hands, and they mistreat my girls.  We’ll be glad to help you any way we can.”

“ _Shukran_ ,” said Ardeth, bowing slightly.

“There is one other thing,” Ardeth said, remembering his promise to the man he had had executed.  “Do you know of any place the Germans might be holding a woman and her children?”

“I will ask the girls, my lord.  Anything that goes on in this district, they hear about.  If they spent as much time working as they did gossiping, I would be a rich woman!”

That evening, Ardeth and Musaid made their way along the cobbled streets to the gambling club where they knew the Germans would be.

“I feel…..voluminous, sayyid,” complained Musaid. Although Medjai robes were made from approximately the same amount of material as the robes he and Ardeth were wearing, between the sash at the waist and the ever present bandoleers, they hugged the body closer than the long white thawbs and brown sleeveless outer tunics the men currently wore.

“Will you still be able to wield your scimitar, my friend?” Ardeth asked only half-seriously.

Musaid’s weapon almost magically appeared in his hand, then just as quickly disappeared back into its sheath. “As long as I don’t trip over all this material, my lord,” Musaid answered with a smile.

“One more thing, remember not to call me sayyid.” Ardeth and Musaid had decided to use the names Saif and Musa. These names were close enough to what they actually called each other so that any slip of the tongue could be easily corrected.

“Aiwa, Sa….Saif. Although I don’t think the Germans will notice what we call each other.”

“Their attitude towards our people gives us an advantage over them.”

When Ardeth and Musaid arrived at the club, the Germans were already there. Ardeth immediately recognized one of them as the man who had ripped his amulet from his neck at Hamunaptra. Ardeth had idly wondered how the Germans in Cairo knew about his amulet. Now he had his answer, and swore to himself to never again show mercy to these men.

The recognition was not reciprocated. As far as the Germans were concerned, Ardeth and Musaid were simply two ignorant savages to be fleeced at a game of cards.

Ardeth had visited the establishment on 71 [Pall Mall](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pall_Mall,_London) and knew what a gentlemen’s club was supposed to look like.  The Golden Pyramid was another story completely.  It was simply a somewhat shabby room containing a number of round tables and chairs.  A haze of smoke hung in the air, not all of it from tobacco.  Along the back wall, a bar served alcoholic beverages of undeterminable origin.

Although Medjai did not gamble, both Ardeth and Musaid knew how to play poker.  They made their way seemingly by chance over to the table where the Germans were playing.  One of the Germans looked up and a greedy expression settled on his face.  [“Sprechen ze Deutsch](https://www.google.com/search?rls=com.microsoft:en-us&q=sprechen+ze+deutsch&sa=X&ei=3rcwUsmmGM-x4APYg4CoAQ&ved=0CCkQ7xYoAA)?” the German asked.  Neither Medjai responded, although they understood that they were being asked if they spoke German.  “Speakee de English?”  the German tried again.

Both Ardeth and Musaid nodded amiably, just two uneducated camel herders, in Cairo with pockets burning with gold.

“I am Musa,” began Musaid.  “This is my friend Saif.  We come to Cairo to visit the…” Musaid waved in the general direction of the brothel.  “My friend likes to play the cards, so we come here first.”

Before long, the two Medjai were seated at the table with the four Germans, playing poker.  They both quickly lost the money they had set aside for that purpose.  Musaid was doing most of the talking.  Glib speech came more easily to him than to Ardeth, who spent most of his energy trying not to glower.

The Germans had drinks in front of them and asked if Ardeth and Musaid wanted to order anything.

“La,” answered Musaid.  “I mean no.  We do not want to be, how do you say it….” He made a gesture with his hand and wrist to indicate a drooping penis.  “For the ladies,” he finished. 

The Germans laughed.  “You want to make sure you get your money’s worth, right, Abdul?”  leered one of them.  Apparently they could not be bothered to learn either Musaid’s or Ardeth’s “name”.

Ardeth finally had enough.  “We must go,” he said.  “I do not come all this way to spend the evening with men.”  He had a more difficult time pretending he was not fluent in English.  “Do our new friends like to join us?”  Ardeth tried to mimic the easy smile that Musaid wore so effortlessly, but thought it probably looked more like a grimace.  The Germans did not notice.  They did, however, perk up at the prospect of visiting the brothel and readily agreed. 

As they walked next door, Musaid whispered to Ardeth, “Pretend you are enjoying yourself.”  He rightly assumed the Germans did not understand the Medjai language, which was a mixture of Arabic, Ancient Egyptian, and a smattering of Hebrew.

“I expect to enjoy myself later,” Ardeth replied in kind.

When they entered the brothel, Ardeth nodded slightly to the guard standing at the door.  The guard was dressed like one of the Medjai from ancient times, a black wig on his head, a schenti around his waist, and his bare torso displaying his warrior’s marks.  He left as previously arranged to get some additional warriors as soon as Ardeth and the others passed.

Reyah immediately bustled up to the six men.  “Welcome to my humble house,” she said, smiling.  “I see you have brought some friends tonight,” she said to one of the Germans.  She gave no more than a parting glance at the Medjai.

“I believe their money is good,” replied one of the Germans.  “Show them your money,” he ordered Ardeth and Musaid. 

The two men drew pouches out of their robes.  These pouches had been full earlier but still jingled enough to indicate there was enough money to pay for the company of one of the prostitutes.

“Would you men like something to drink?” asked Reyah. 

“Whiskey,” replied Ardeth.  “For me and my friend.”

“And what about you gentlemen?  We just gotten in some wine that the girls especially like.  Perhaps some bottles for later?”

When the ersatz whiskey arrived, Ardeth and Musaid gulped it down before the Germans could notice that the color was not quite right.  Musaid pretended to gasp from the burning of the liquid down his throat, then turned to Reyah.  “And now the girls?” he slurred slightly, much to the amusement of the Germans.

Soon the Germans and Musaid were paired up with girls, leaving only Ardeth alone.

“What about you?  Do you have any special requests?”  asked Reyah.

Ardeth tried to think what the most depraved thing he could ask for was.  Then he noticed a young girl standing over by herself.

“Her,” he indicated.  “I like them young.”  The Germans guffawed and slapped each other’s backs.  There was almost nothing they enjoyed more than seeing Arabs behave like the animals they considered them to be.

“The big room, is it available?”  one of the Germans asked Reyah. 

“Yes, sir.  We will get your wine and the girls will escort you there,” replied Reyah. 

Ardeth and Musaid made their way upstairs with the girls they had chosen, leaving the Germans at the table.  Musaid had his arm around his companion’s shoulder and Ardeth followed suit, even managing to stumble a bit.

The girl accompanying Ardeth led him to one of the upstairs rooms.  As soon as the door was closed, Ardeth said “Do not be afraid, little one.  I mean you no harm.”

“I know who you are, Chieftain.  My mother told everyone the plan, because she did not know what girls the Germans would choose.”

“Your mother?”

“Reyah is my mother.  My name is Tahira.”

Ardeth was appalled.  “Does she make you work here?  How old are you?”

“La, la,” replied Tahira.  “I am going to school.  Someday I am going to be a nurse.   Besides, none of the girls in this house are younger than 16, and I am only 12.  Sometimes I work here after school but only to help in the kitchen.  My mother would never make me…..”

“My apologies,” said Ardeth.  “I spoke out of turn.  I know your mother to be an honorable woman.”

“Did you know my mother when she was, when she was working here?” 

Ardeth understood that Tahira meant “know” in the biblical sense, and was glad that he could honestly say he did not. 

“My mother had a patron, my father.  He was an Englisher.  And when he died, he left her some money, enough money to buy this house.”

“What was your father like?” asked Ardeth, more to keep talking than anything.  He felt somewhat uncomfortable sitting alone in a room with a girl he did not know.

“I don’t remember much about him, except for the pictures my ume has of us together.  But I have his blue eyes.”  Egyptians typically had dark brown eyes like Ardeth’s.

Suddenly, footsteps in the hall outside caught Tahira’s attention.  “Do you have a belt, sayyid?” she asked.

Ardeth looked down at his disguise, which did not include a belt of any sort.  “La,” he replied.  “Why do you want a belt?”

“Just go along with me, alright?” With that, Tahira threw herself down on the bed.  As the footsteps grew closer, she began to shriek.  “Please, lord, do not hit me again!  I will do whatever you say!”

The door flew open, revealing Reyah, accompanied by the Germans and their “dates.” 

“What is going on here?” demanded Reyah.  The Germans crowded behind her, peering into the room.

Ardeth immediately figured out what Tahira’s plan was.  Although he was not as good as Musaid at presenting a smiling, innocuous façade, he was an expert at harsh and intimidating.

“I have paid good money for this whore, and I expect her to do what I tell her,” Ardeth thundered.  “Whatever I tell her,” he added with a leer.

Tahira cowered on the bed and whimpered.

“She is untried in many ways, sir,” replied Reyah, seeking to smooth things over.  “If she does not satisfy you, I will have another girl sent up.”

More whimpers from Tahira.

“Untried?”  Ardeth’s leer grew wider.  “Then I will teach her how to behave.”  He walked over to the door and closed it forcefully, but not before Reyah gave him a wink that was not seen by the Germans.

Ardeth turned and looked at Tahira, who was now sitting on the bed giggling.  “If you had a belt, you could have pretended…..”

“Are you certain you want to become a nurse?  Perhaps a film star would be a better choice?  What was all that about?”

“The Germans will be thinking about what you are supposedly doing to me.  They will want to get drunk thinking about it, and they will not notice that the wine tastes funny.”

Ardeth walked over to the door.  The corridor was now silent.  “Since you seem to know everything that goes on here,” he said with a smile.  “How long before the wine takes effect?”

“It depends, sayyid.  The girls will try to get the Germans to drink right away.  They will dance for them, and hopefully the Germans will be asleep before anything else happens.”  Tahira wrinkled her nose.  “They are not nice men.  My mother will be glad to be rid of them.  Medjai are much nicer.  Perhaps I will marry one someday.  Are you married?”

Ardeth did not have a lot of experience talking to twelve year old girls, and was amazed at how quickly Tahira’s conversation jumped from one topic to another. 

“Aiwa, I am married,” he replied.

“What is she like?  Is she beautiful?  Do you have children?”

“The sayyidah is very beautiful,” Ardeth replied.  “And she is like…” he paused, remembering the girl he had fallen in love with.  “In many ways, she is like you.  I think she would enjoy meeting you.”

Tahira clapped her hands, unconsciously mimicking her mother.  “Oh I would like that!  Maybe I will marry a Medjai after all!”

Ardeth and Tahira chatted for another few minutes, with Tahira doing most of the talking.  Ardeth soon found that he was no longer uncomfortable in her presence, although he thought he was getting a headache.

“And then,” Tahira said, “My ume made us pour out the beer!”

Ardeth had not been quite following the story but knew it had something to do with Tahira and her friends getting caught doing something they were not supposed be doing. 

“Medjai do not drink alcohol,” Ardeth said, trying and failing for a stern expression.  “If you wish to marry one, you will need learn to behave properly.”

“Oh I am not going to get married for years and years!”

There was a quiet knock on the door.  Ardeth’s hand immediately went to his scimitar.  “Stay here,” he said to Tahira.

“Am I disturbing anything?”  Musaid asked with a smirk when Ardeth opened the door.  “The Germans are unconscious, and our men are waiting downstairs with the horses,” he said, entering the room.  “Now all that is left is for us to…….”

“I know what you’re going to do.  I’m not a child!” interrupted Tahira. 

The two men looked at each other.

“This is Tahira, Reyah’s daughter,” said Ardeth.  “And this is Musaid, my second-in-command.” 

“My lady,” said Musaid, bowing, earning him a giggle from the girl.

“Tahira, you will remain here until we leave,” commanded Ardeth.  “Just in case something goes wrong.”

“Are you going to come back?”

Ardeth thought for a moment.  “Aiwa, there are a few loose ends I need to take care of.”  Then he turned to Musaid.  “Let us take care of the other loose ends, my friend.”

“I will go get the men, sayyid,” replied Musaid.

When Musaid returned, he held out a bundle for Ardeth.  “I thought you would feel better in your own clothing, my lord.”  Musaid held a similar bundle containing his own robes. 

A short time later, Ardeth and Musaid, having changed their robes and wiped off their makeup, joined the four Medjai from the garrison.  The unconscious Germans had been tied up and gagged, their weapons confiscated, and their pockets had been emptied.  Ardeth now had not only his and Musaid’s money but also an additional amount of coins and bills in his pouch.  “Did you enjoy yourself while we were waiting?” Ardeth asked Musaid as they were carrying the Germans down the stairs.

“Aiwa, my lord.  I spent the time sharpening my blade.”  Musaid grinned at the shocked look on Ardeth’s face.  Sharpening one’s blade was a euphemism for intercourse.

Musaid drew a small whetstone from his pocket.  “Really, sayyid, I was sharpening my blade!”

Ardeth laughed.  “Do not try that joke on Natira.  You will not have the time to explain it before she sharpens your blade for good.”

Once the still unconscious Germans were tied to the extra horses, Ardeth found Reyah.  “We have some business to attend to.  I will return here when we have finished.”

“Make sure you take them out far enough,” said Reyah.

Ardeth smiled, a cold smile that did not reach his eyes.  “We have done this before,” he admonished.  With that, he strode out of the brothel to join his men.

Tahira came up behind his mother.  “May I marry a Medjai, ume?”

“Not if you keep getting in trouble, child.”  Reyah fondly ruffled her daughter’s hair.  “Now go and help the girls clean up.  We may still actually do some business here tonight.”

The ride from Cairo out into the desert was mostly silent, broken only occasionally by the moans of the Germans, who were now regaining consciousness.  Ardeth halted the group when they had arrived at a place where he knew no one would see or hear them.  As he had told Reyah, the Medjai had done this before.

“Remove their gags,” Ardeth ordered, as the prisoners were summarily dumped off the horses to which they had been tied. 

“Do you now recognize us?” asked Ardeth in perfect English, looming over the four bound bodies.

The Germans tried to scrabble away, but the fact that they were lying on their backs and their hands and feet were tied made that impossible. 

Ardeth walked over to the man he had recognized earlier, the one who had ripped the amulet from Ardeth’s neck.

“Do you remember me?” Ardeth said softly.  The angrier Ardeth was, the quieter his voice would become.  “Do you remember taking this from me?”  He lifted his amulet away from his neck. 

“We were only following orders!”  protested the German.

“Why do they keep saying that?” asked Musaid, earning him a quick scowl from his Chieftain.

Ardeth turned his attention back to the German.  “We showed you mercy before, but you refused it.  There is no more mercy for you.”

“Get him to his feet,” Ardeth ordered, and two of the warriors hauled the man up.  Ardeth walked around behind the German and, grabbing his hair, tilted his head back.

“You are not worth the energy it takes to draw my sword,” Ardeth growled in the man’s ear.  He drew a dagger from his sash and, with one quick stroke, slit the German’s throat. 

Ardeth kicked the body after it fell to the ground.  “You may take your time with the others,” he said to Musaid.  “I will meet you back at the holding house.” 

“ _Shukran_ , my lord,” replied Musaid.  To some, Musaid seemed an atypical Medjai.  He laughed easily, smiled even more easily, and did not affect the brooding expression that his Chieftain had perfected.  If Ardeth struck some people as dangerous, Musaid gave the opposite impression.  This was usually a fatal mistake on the part of those the Medjai considered enemies.  Musaid’s smile would be the last thing the Germans saw. 

Ardeth turned to the remaining prisoners.  “My friend is, how do you say it, creative with his scimitar,” he said, before mounting his horse and starting back towards Cairo.  

Ardeth loved the desert at night.  The starry sky reminded him of the robe Jamila had worn for their wedding celebration.  The sand, which was so hot during the day, felt like cool water under his Askari’s hooves.  If he could have ignored the screams behind him and the lights of city ahead of him, he would have felt completely at peace.  He contented himself with the knowledge that he would soon be home.

Things seemed to be back to normal at the Pharaoh’s Jewel.  Amid, the Medjai guard, was back at the door.  Tahira was nowhere to be seen.  Ardeth assumed she was working in the kitchen or doing her schoolwork.  The idea of a twelve year old doing homework in a brothel struck him as very odd indeed.  There were a few men sitting downstairs talking with some of the women.  Everyone was relaxed and enjoying themselves.  The only evidence of the earlier activities was a spot on the carpet where one of the Germans had been “accidently” dropped, earning him a bloody nose.

“I will have that rug replaced,” Ardeth said as Reyah approached him.

“Nonsense!  We were happy to help you.”

Ardeth took his pouch out of his robe and held it out.  “This is the money we took from the Germans.  It is only right that you have it for putting up with them, and with us.”  Ardeth smiled at these last words.

“The Chieftain and his warriors are always welcome here.”

“There is one favor you could do for me,” said Ardeth.

“Of course, my lord.”

“If you find out anything about that woman and her children, would you please tell Amid.  He will arrange for their rescue and see to it that they are returned to their village.  And would you please give them a portion of this money.  I know the woman’s husband gambled all their money away, and it is only right that she should have it back.”  Ardeth did not tell Reyah what had happened to the woman’s husband, and she knew better than to ask.

“I would be pleased to, Chieftain.”

Ardeth turned to leave.

“Are you sure you would not like to stay awhile?  We have some new girls, and it has been a few years since you visited us.”

“Thank you for your offer,” replied Ardeth.  “But I am married now, and my lady wife is….” Ardeth tried to think of a way of describing Jamila in such a way as to not insult Reyah’s offer. 

“I understand, sayyid,” said Reyah.  “A wise man does not seek elsewhere that which is already in his tent.  The sayyidah is lucky to have a husband such as you.”

“It is I who is lucky.”

Ardeth was already back at the garrison when Musaid and the other men returned.  “Is everything taken care of?” he asked Musaid.

“Aiwa, my lord, although I may have to sharpen my blade again,” replied Musaid with a smile.

“I would advise you to wait until we get home,” said Ardeth.  “We will leave Cairo tomorrow after we visit Abdul.”

Both Ardeth and Musaid were anxious to back to their village.  Neither liked sleeping alone.  “We have been spoiled, my friend,” remarked Ardeth.

“I agree, sayyid.  I miss my nice warm bed, and my nice warm wife.”

The next morning, Musaid accompanied Ardeth to Abdul’s café.

Abdul came bustling out of the kitchen.  “Chieftain!  And Musaid!” he exclaimed.  “It is wonderful to see you again.  How may I help you?”

“My lady wife asked me to get some of those delicious pastries your wife makes.  And perhaps a package for my friend Musaid.  His three children all enjoy sweets.”

“Of course, right away.”

“How is Juhanah doing?”

“She is a pleasure to have around, my lord.  She is a hard worker and the customers love her.  She has even received a few marriage proposals despite her belly.  But…” Abdul lowered his voice.   “I think one of my sons has his eye on her.”

“She has had an unhappy life.  I sent her to you knowing you would treat her properly, and I thank you for your consideration.”

“It is my pleasure, sayyid.  Giuliana loves having another woman here.  She is even teaching Juhanah to speak Italian.”

“Then I leave her in your good hands,” replied Ardeth.

“I will have three packages put up for you: one for your family, sayyid, one for Musaid’s, and one for your brother Yusef.  I’m sure Juhanah would like to see you.  I’ll send her to the garrison with them.”

“That would be appreciated, Abdul.”  Ardeth began to take out his purse, but Abdul waved it away.

“La, la, my lord.  You know I can never repay my debt to your grandfather.”  Ardeth’s grandfather had purchased the café for Abdul when Abdul fell in love with a non-Medjai and decided to marry her and live in Cairo.

“At least permit me to give you something for Juhanah’s baby.”

Adbul reluctantly took the coins.  “ _Shukran_ , my lord.  May Allah bless you for your generosity.”

On the way back to the Medjai compound, Ardeth and Musaid walked through the souk.  Ardeth stopped at one of the stalls that he knew Jamila liked.  Picking up a bottle of scented oil, he said to Musaid, “I am certain Natira would enjoy something from this shop.”

“She is not like the sayyidah, my lord,” said Musaid.  “I am not sure she would be interested in any of these things.  Maybe a new sheath for her knife or….”

“She is still a woman, Musaid.  Perhaps if you gave her what my lady wife calls “woman things” you would get a pleasant surprise.”

Musaid thought for a moment, then agreed, remembering how differently Natira acted when she was dressed like a proper Medjai lady for Ardeth’s and Jamila’s wedding.  A bottle of bath salts caught his eye.  “This one,” he said, reading the label.  “It is jasmine scented.  Yasmeen is Natira’s middle name.”

As Ardeth and Musaid continued through the souk they stopped at another stall, this one selling soft goods.  “I would like to purchase this,” Ardeth said, holding up a fuzzy blanket just the right size for a baby.  “But I am not even sure if Jamila is with child.”

“Let me keep it for you, my lord, until you know for certain.”

“ _Shukran_ , my friend.”  Ardeth handed the blanket over to the shopkeeper along with a few coins.  The shopkeeper, who recognized Ardeth, refused the payment.

“I should go shopping with you more often,” quipped Musaid.

“I do not like to accept things for free,” replied Ardeth.  “But I do not want to insult the shopkeepers by refusing their generosity.”

“We do provide a service, sayyid,” said Musaid, referring to the fact that the Medjai kept a loose eye on the shops in the souk to discourage thieves.  “Even if we longer cut off the hands of those we catch stealing.”

***

Ardeth was packing his saddlebag when one of the Medjai warriors stationed at the compound approached him.  “Sayyid, there are some people from Abdul’s here to see you,” the man said.  The warriors all enjoyed dining at Abdul’s when their duties permitted it and they tried not to frighten the other patrons.

Juhanah was accompanied by one of Abdul’s sons.  It was unheard of for an Arab woman, even a Medjai, to walk through the streets of Cairo alone.   Even Natira would not walk by herself unless she was wearing her warrior robes.  Ardeth could see that Juhanah was most definitely pregnant now and smiled to himself when he saw how solicitous her escort was.

Juhanah made a small bow to Ardeth as she handed him the packages she had brought.  “I am honored to see you again, sayyid,” she said.  “I am not sure whether you have met Abdul’s son Antonio.” 

Antonio stepped forward and bowed.  At Ardeth’s quizzical expression, he explained, “I am the youngest of Abdul’s sons and my father promised my mother she could choose may name.  I am named after my grandfather.” 

“It is proper to honor one’s family,” replied Ardeth.  “My own son is also named after one of his ancestors.”

“We have not decided on a name for the baby yet,” Jamila said, looking at Antonio with a shy smile.  Ardeth noticed that Juhanah said “we” and not “I”.

“Antonio, I wish to speak with you for a moment,” Ardeth said. 

“That’s alright, Tony,” said Jamila, seeing the somewhat panicked look on Antonio’s face.  “I need to use the, um…..”

“One of my men will show you where it is,” said Ardeth, remembering Jamila’s frequent use of the facilities as her pregnancy progressed.  One of the features the barracks boasted was indoor plumbing.

Although Antonio’s father was a Medjai, he himself had been born and raised in Cairo.  He had never spent much time with any Medjai warriors and being in the presence of the Medjai Chieftain unnerved him.

“I will be plain with you,” Ardeth began.  “My lady wife has taken a special interest in Juhanah and we both care about her happiness.”

“I also care about her happiness, my lord,” stammered Antonio.

“I can see that, but as a man, you may also have selfish desires.”

“I would never, my lord.”

“After the baby is born, if you still desire her, and she agrees, you may marry her with my blessings. “  Ardeth said.  “And only then, may you take her.”

Antonio swallowed hard.  “Yes, my lord.  _Shukran_ , my lord.”

“Another thing,” Ardeth continued, his voice softening somewhat.  “When you do take her, take her as a maiden, not a maid.  There has not been much gentleness in her life.”

Antonio nodded his head.  “I will remember that, sayyid.”  His expression brightened when he saw Juhanah returning.

“We must get back to the café, sayyid,” said Juhanah.  “Giuliana needs my help getting ready for lunch.”

“We also must be on our way,” replied Ardeth. 

“Please give the sayyidah my regards, and my thanks for all she has done for me.”

“I will make sure to give her a complete report,” Ardeth said, allowing a small smile to grace his lips.

Musaid returned to the barracks after Juhanah and Antonio had left.  “I see we had our delivery, my lord,” he said, pointing to the three packages.

“Aiwa, and Juhanah seems to be doing quite well.  If Allah wills it there may be a wedding in her future.”

“The horses are ready, sayyid, whenever you are.”

“I am more than ready to get home, my friend,” replied Ardeth, picking up the packages.

Soon the saddlebags were loaded onto the horses and Ardeth and Musaid mounted.

“Are we forgetting anything, my lord?” asked Musaid, checking again to make sure he had the gift for Natira in one of his pockets.”

“One thing, my friend.”  Ardeth smiled, raising his arm in the air.  “Yalla!  Imshi!” he shouted, and the two warriors rode off into the desert, towards home.   

 

Abu = father

Aiwa = yes

Am = Uncle

Habibti = my love

Kalila = dearly loved

Keffiyeh = a traditional [Arab](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arab_people) [headdress](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Headdress)

[Keshtan-ur](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/main.php?cmd=details&id=3922) = vagina

Koshari = a dish of rice, lentils and pasta

Kyphi = incense

La = no

Mahshi Wara' inab = stuffed grape leaves

Marhaban = hello

 

Masbaha = prayer beads

Sayyid = lord (an honorific title)

Sayyidah = lady (an honorific title)

Schenti = a knee length garment worn in ancient Egypt

Sharmuta = whore

Shukran = thank you

Thawb = a long robe worn by Arab men

Ume = mother

Wadi = a dry riverbed

Yalla!  Imshi = let’s go!


End file.
